


While This World Collides (It's Not Enough for Me)

by Moriarty_assbutt1, t0bemadeofglass



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Hinted Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, Implied abusive relationships, M/M, Magic, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Natasha Romanov/Alexei Shostakov - Freeform, WIP, War, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriarty_assbutt1/pseuds/Moriarty_assbutt1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/pseuds/t0bemadeofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki was never been one to take an insult lightly, and after his first attempt to conquer Midgard failed he returned with a score to settle, not having anticipated that even with his new numbers the Midgardians would rise just as swiftly to face the threat as they had before.  In the face of defeat a second time, and with Thor no longer so willing to let him off the hook, Loki found himself faced with one, simple option, one last trick.  Never had it occurred to him that the world he’d read about as a youth, visited before, would be so changeable.  </p><p>Now, stuck in this new 1899’s England, he must find a way to navigate a world that is anything but what it seems on the surface, not to mention the reappearance of each Avenger, some wise to his tricks, the others not, and all the more enticing for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to our wonderful merry-go-round of a fic! Both of us are super excited to be working on Collide, and hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for reading!

It figured it all came down to this.  It would, Loki supposed, as he surveyed his troops and compared them to the ones his brother had brought.  He didn’t have enough.  He knew that, had been certain of the fact even before he’d considered going into battle that he’d never be able to muster up the amount of troops that Thor would.  That whole fighting for the supposed “right” side tended to attract a far greater number of allies, who then brought those of the same ideals.  It didn’t matter, however.  They wouldn’t be prepared for him, nor what he and his troops could do.  Thor, undoubtedly, thought he would lay down his arms, would see the numbers of his supposed brothers stretch across the battlefield and call it enough.  Apologize.  Grovel.  He always assumed the best in people no matter how often he was burned because of it.  

 

Loki clenched his jaw and pursed his lips in a tight line as he watched the man he once called brother, surrounded by those imbeciles known as Avengers, stand on the front line, battle ready and bodies tense and set for a fight.  Meanwhile Loki’s own forces grew restless.  If Thor thought the Chitauri were a fighting force to be reckoned with then he’d not been prepared for the Kree, nor the Skrull whom Loki had convinced to follow him.  Thanos had been generous enough to grant him one last chance, one final opportunity, after Loki had handed him Asgard on a platter.  His role as Allfather had allowed him to destroy the shining citadel and all those fools who doubted him in the past.  Similarly, he’d crushed New York to show his resolve, obliterated D.C. to prove his mettle, and now, at this last confrontation on the outskirts of another meaningless city, he would destroy those he called enemies and take what was his.  

 

“Brother!”  He heard Thor shout at him above the noise of the surrounding warriors, and the title was enough to set Loki’s teeth on edge.  Would he never learn?  “Brother, end this now!  No more need to die if you will simply lay down your weapons and surrender!”

 

Loki felt his tongue grow heavy and his hand balled into tight fists.  The Other at his side spit for Loki to close his ears to Thor’s words, but Loki’s heart had already hardened to whatever the blond imbecile might’ve said.  Too long he’d walked in the footsteps of that man, too long he’d survived on scraps of affection and attention.  No more. If this was to be his last day, then he would drag the whole damn world down with him.  

 

“Shut up,” Loki shouted back as his body coiled, ready to spring into the attack, his eyes growing narrow as he surveyed his opposition.  They may have had the advantage in numbers, but Loki wasn’t above cheap tricks to get a victory.  If it came to it . . . if he had to, he’d do whatever it took to win.  No matter the cost.  Even Thanos would understand laying down the lives of hundreds, of thousands, if it meant a victory.  His gaze snapped onto the redhead at Thor’s side, and his otherwise calm demeanor snapped into a snarl.  She was a fool, fighting for the side she thought would most help her ledger.  Her very presence, the reminder of what she’d done by tricking him in that cage, made his blood grow hot and his patience wane.  He turned to mutter to the Other to ready the troops, and a loud cry of bloodlust and aggression rose behind him.  It strengthened his bones, gave him heart for what was to come.  He might not have been a war general before, in Asgard, but he felt invincible now standing at the front lines, watching as Thor’s face paled with his surprise at his brother’s actions.  

 

He still thought Loki was redeemable?  That they might go home to sort things out as they had in the past?  It was laughable.  No one was wholly worth redemption, not ever.  Loki had learned this, and now it was Thor’s turn to know the agony of disappointment.  What was it that damnable Agent Romanov had said about red in her ledger and wanting to wipe it out?  A fool’s errand, for certain.  Ink was not so easily wiped away, blood even less so, and so Loki had resigned himself that if his ledger was to drip, then it would overflow.  

 

With another bellow, Loki raised the scepter he carried in his hands into the air, watched those who were foolish enough to oppose him shoot nervous looks to one another, and before they could decide to fire or to hold their ground Loki’s troops rushed them.  The Kree went first, the quickest of them all, zipping their way across the flattened remnants of a massacred town held while Thor assembled his men and women.  The blades of the warriors sang out above the shouts and cries of those who opposed them, followed by the gunfight and high pitched screech of that imbecile Iron Man’s suit, and bodies fell on both sides as armor clashed with armor, swords removed heads from their necks, and bullets found their way into the hearts of friend and foe alike.  

 

It happened in a blur, a clouded, distant haze, as the troops rushed beside him. The sound of Loki’s heart pounded in his ears, his own breathing heavy as he ran towards the opposing army, and then all Hel broke loose. Swords struck each other with the loud scraping of metal on metal. Guns blasted, arrows flew past his head, and the vexatious sound of Iron mans blasts of power rang in Loki’s ears. Before he knew it, adversaries were running at him in packs. Take down the leader and the army will fall, they seemed to believe, though Loki was having none of it.  

 

They weren’t hard to kill, and more was the pity for it.  He’d been looking forward to the challenge, for something to slake the lust for revenge that burned bright and hot in his chest. He took each one down with short blasts from his scepter, his pride growing with each body that fell before him. Maybe Thor knew them personally, perhaps seeing their corpses would bring him the pain that Loki craved to inflict. Not just upon his false brother, but upon the world, and Thor was not a bad place to start. Loki would not rest until the Avengers were dead at Thor’s feet, until he could see his brother’s pain clear upon his features. How he longed for Thor to feel the loss of everything he held dear, everything that he believed in. Maybe then he would understand Loki’s actions, and when he held Thor’s head aloft, having severed it from his body, perhaps he might even find peace.  

 

He paused, finding himself in somewhat of a clearing in the midst of the battle. Surrounding him were bodies, bloodied and broken, eyes blank and staring up at the sky, mocking the dead with how clear and bright it all was.  Gangs of Kree were taking on a small number of Thor’s army at a time, and soldiers had paired off further away, crashing their weapons at one another haphazardly, bodies thrashing as all memory of training was forgotten.  Now it was just kill, or be killed.

 

A thunderous roar erupted to his far left and Loki’s blood went cold. He turned, body stiff, to see the green, monstrous beast charging through the swarms of creatures battling with every bit of their strength. The Hulk’s fists crashed on bodies five at a time, the slew of them flinging to the side as the others hacked and shot at his thick green skin until blood covered them all and the Hulk could turn to swing again.  It stung him, sharp and painfully, to be so tormented by this beast, once a harmless man, now a serious threat, not only to him but his allies. But having been gripped by the ankle and thrashed around like a ragdoll, left breathless and broken in his own crater, well, the memory had stuck with him since, and as it shot a bolt of fear through his veins it also caused him much internal humiliation.

 

He would waste them first.  The Avengers. He wished them to know the chagrin and shame he felt after losing a war, yet perhaps they would feel nothing of the sort.  Perhaps he would kill them each, individually, before they could feel a thing, living just long enough to see the god who had ended them. The thought gave him strength, and he sharply turned from the Hulk, too far away to bother with such a creature, and searched for his next kill. The blade of his scepter pierced the thick armor of the nearest foe, the woman’s eyes going wide with fear before she went limp around the blade, and when he pulled it out he found her blood to be as red as the others.  They thought they could not bleed, that they could not lose, and yet they would all fall beneath him, all succumb to his strength and his will to rule.  Whether they were willing or not.  

 

The shield of their captain hit him hard on the back of the head, just below where his helmet protected, and it forced Loki to stagger forward in a lapse of judgement.  It circled back around to its owner, the soldier catching it and affixing it to his arm as his eyes narrowed.  The look of hate might’ve made a younger, more naive Loki stagger, but now he only grinned.  Good.  Let him experience the pain and the suffering of his people as they wasted away.  The pair of them had gone through the motions of fighting before, and as Loki remembered it had ended mostly in his favor, had it not been for the idiot Iron Man’s interference.  He was determined to rectify that situation as the captain charged at him, shield raised and fist cocked back.  Too easy.  Loki caught him by the arm and twisted him around, using his own momentum to drive him into the ground.  He was maddened by his desire to avenge those who Loki had killed, both in this battle and in the ones before, and while the man was usually so level headed it was odd to see him in such a state of abandon.  

 

He hadn’t been anticipating the leg to sweep his own from under his feet, too focused on making the captain suffer to have noticed that the Black Widow had grown near.  As his back hit the hard ground he barely had time to roll out of the way to avoid her fist making a crater of his head, and he rounded the butt end of the scepter to knock her forward.  Or rather it might’ve if she hadn’t jumped out of the way, lithe and nimble as ever.  He’d seen what she could do first hand, both through Barton’s memories and while she fought the Chitauri, and now it was his turn to grow furious.  She’d been the downfall of it all, she’d been instrumental in his defeat, having managed to sneak the truth from him when he’d been least expecting it, playing on his own ego as he’d sang to her of his plans and the retribution he planned on bringing down upon them all for Thor and Odin’s slights against him.  

 

She wouldn’t be so lucky this time.  

 

He got back up to his feet with a snarl of anger, jerking his scepter towards the spy, though she danced out of the way and the blast hit another of her compatriots, freeing up the Kree that had been fighting the man with blades from his fists to take on captain.  Perfect, because he wanted nothing more than to focus on bringing this woman down to her knees.  

 

Or taking them off, he wasn’t picky.  

 

She seemed to realize that her partner was otherwise occupied, and for half a moment he swore he saw a sliver of fear flash through her eyes as he started to move closer, his scepter raised and clenched so tight in his hand that his knuckles whitened.  They circled around one another for a good while, the noises and chaos of the background disappearing as her eyes kept on his, forcing his focus onto her, and visa versa.  He kept stepping close, just enough to ensure she remained on her toes and well aware of her nearing enemy, and when she was the first to react and strike out he was surprised. He’d been certain they’d do this dance for sometime longer, but her fist tried to make contact with his face, and when that missed, his scepter knocking her arm out of the way with a force strong enough to break the bones of a normal human, her leg came up and completed with swing, kicking him backwards in the chest.  He stumbled as her leg lashed out at him once more, and his time he caught it with his own fist, wrapping his arm around her ankle and twisting her about until she fell to the ground.  Her free foot collided with his kneecap, the move unexpected and the area unarmored to keep him light on his feet.  The pain that laced up his left leg had him hissing.  She’d read his body’s projected moves and adapted, and for that he burned and hated and wanted her dead at his feet, any semblance of mercy lost as he pointed the scepter at her chest and--.

 

Mjolnir’s full weight crashed into his chest, sending him flying backwards into the fray just behind him, leaving him to wonder if a day would ever pass where he didn’t feel as though his back had shattered, before the hammer returned to its owner with a song all too familiar to Loki as it cut through the air.  Spitting with rage, Loki rose rapidly to his feet and charged at his once brother, now coming at him full force, yet as Thor made to raise Mjolnir to strike out at Loki the trickster vanished, reappearing behind Thor with a faint popping noise that he’d have thought the blond would be used to by then.  

 

Perhaps he’d counted himself too lucky, and Mjolnir hit him hard in the hip, flipping him up and onto the ground.  His scepter went flying out of his hand, and he whipped his head up to look at his brother, eyes wide and tasting blood in his mouth from where his teeth had cut into his tongue and lip.  Thor advanced, eyes burning blue and narrowed as he leveled Mjolnir with Loki’s face.  

 

“This ends now,” he commanded, and the sky rippled with a bolt of lightning, Thor’s voice the answering rumble of thunder.  “End this madness and I may spare you.  Continue and there will be no reprieve.  You have wronged me and our family--.”

 

“Your family,” Loki spat, earning himself another blow with the hammer.  This time he flew backwards, falling strangely on his arm and the snap that followed resounded through his whole body as he screamed with the pain.  One of the nearest x-men, or avengers, or whatever they were called now, took it upon themselves to try and drive one of her knives through his head.  His own found its way between her ribs and into her heart before she could get close enough, snarling up at her, before shoving the bloody body away from him and rising to his feet.  Thor approached slowly enough, his gaze darkening further as he saw what his brother had done.  Loki watched as his hand grew tighter on Mjolnir’s handle.  

 

“What are you doing, Loki?  This is not who you are,” Thor said, his strides quickening as Loki took several of his own backwards, the other fighters seeming to know better than to get in either of their way.  The sorcerer stumbled backwards on the bodies behind him and he tried not to think about the fact that most of them were his own men.  Dammit all to Hel, they wasn’t doing well.  He wasn’t doing well.  Panic rose in his gut as he looked around to the dwindling number of fighters.  The Kree were strong, as were the Skrull, but against the many that Thor had brought?  His men weren’t prepared for such a slaughter while Thor’s were.  He could see their archer on the side lines picking off his men one at a time in rapid succession, could see Iron Man blasting bodies apart with his guns while a second suit, this one in the same ghastly red, white, and blue as their Captain’s, firing two enormous guns from its shoulders.  Loki’s heart sank, and his distraction offered Thor another opportunity to strike him down, the blow coming across his chest.  He landed funny on his left shoulder and felt the bone pop out of alignment as he shouted in agony.  More than that his heart ached and his blood had turned cold in his veins.  He couldn’t lose, couldn’t face another eternity in one of those cells, or even worse Thanos’ displeasure that he’d failed once again.  

 

He wouldn’t survive it.  

 

One last idea popped into his head, a final spell, a way to save them all perhaps.  Or at least him, and really what did he give a damn about the armies he’d brought?  They were useless, little more than fodder if this was how they planned on conducting themselves.  

 

He could hear Thor’s heavy footsteps echo despite the shouting and screaming of the battle as the thunderer approached him, but Loki kept his eyes on the ground, unwilling to look up at his brother, towering over him. Maybe he could do the spell--it wouldn’t be hard, and then the pain would be gone.

 

No.

 

He snarled at the very thought of giving up, and steadying his hands on the rough, dirty ground, he lifted himself up, stifling grunts of pain as he did so. Thor’s boots stopped just before his eyes, and Loki heard him sigh over the crashes of armour, the blasts of guns, he could hear Thor’s own anguish at their situation.  It made his skin crawl to think that the imbecile still considered them so close after all of his betrayals, after all Loki had done to illustrate that they were not, and never would be, brothers once more.  What could he not comprehend?

 

“Brother, please.” The prince’s voice was near drowned out by the distant battle, by the incessant pounding in Loki’s brain, was just loud enough to be audible. And that first word that had left Thor’s lips, still, after everything, he said it. What use was Thor’s pleading? Had he not tried already?

 

It seemed that gathering armies and destroying cities would not do, Loki had to try harder to estrange himself from the fool, to prove that he was no longer the little boy that Thor had known growing up.

 

The thought of the spell tingled at the back of his mind, willing him to say the required words, kiss this reality, this Hel, goodbye. It all depended on whether or not is was worth it, and as Loki rose, careful not to move too suddenly, so as to lull Thor into a false sense of safety, he chanced a glance at his surroundings. Things were moving fast. Already, hundreds of bodies lay dead or wounded on the ground, smoke and fire obscured the sights, and so he turned back to Thor, who watched him warily from where he stood.

 

“Loki,” Thor murmured, and only then, standing so close, could Loki see the purple hues beneath Thor’s eyes, the scratches and bruises that marked his face. He looked so tired, and indeed the war had been going on far longer than this meagre battle. How long ago had it been since Loki had discovered his parentage? It had felt like no time at all, yet still the days seemed to drag along. “Too many troops have fallen, this does not need to go on.”

 

Loki’s lips broke out into a feral grin. How pathetic Thor was, to distract himself with foolish begging. Well, Loki certainly wasn’t one to give up on a golden opportunity, and with one fell swoop, he crashed his scepter against Thor’s skull. The man stumbled back, his eyes darkening with distrust. Perhaps this was when Thor would finally give up hope on him, like he had so threatened to do so many times before.  Indeed, Thor, closed the gap in two swift strides, shoving Loki’s scepter to the side as he grabbed the dark haired man by the throat and held him aloft, squeezing his throat as Loki clawed and scratched at his once-brother’s hand.  As he felt his brother’s hand tighten even further his eyes went wide.  This was happening, Thor was no longer playing at harming Loki, and there was half a moment where the trickster felt the clutches of panic grip him tight, never having dealt with this before.  His right hand was trembling as it reached to his side to grab at the knife waiting there, but Thor’s spare hand found his wrist and twisted hard enough to break the bone.  Loki screamed and kicked out at Thor’s face, his knee finding and cracking Thor’s nose just hard enough to make the blond drop Loki to the ground.  

 

It took him half a moment to recognize the Other, blank faced and slack jawed, with a gaping, smoking hole through his chest, that he’d been dropped atop of.  His blood went cold as he saw the man and the spell, the one way out, came back to the forefront of his mind.  Perhaps--if he was quick enough--.  

 

Thor barely gave him that chance, Mjolnir zipping dangerously close to where his head had been if he hadn’t ducked, but the words were already spilling from his lips as he tried to keep Thor at bay with a shield.  Meanwhile, with his left hand, though he barely had strength left in that, he fumbled with another dagger and started carving at the earth, the symbols familiar to him and beginning to glow as the words grew in volume and resounded around the clearing.  Thor’s eyes widened the way they always had whenever he’d caught Loki doing some spell he knew he ought not to be, and after Mjolnir came back to him he brought the hammer’s head against the shield.  Loki felt it splinter, felt his concentration beginning to wane as he messed up the last two symbols.  The dirt stung his already bloody palm as he undid the last symbol with his hand, then took up the dagger once more to try and steady himself enough to carve _Jera_ into the soil, _Perthro_ following it to finish up the spell.

 

_‘As everything must end it also must begin anew.’_

Thor was just reaching out to him, trying to grasp him by the collar, and had indeed wrapped his hands in Loki’s hair as Loki ignored the broken bones of his right hand and shoved both fists into the soil, screaming as the pain rocked his upper torso, and a blinding light overtook the both of them, blotting everything out until all that was left was light and the sound of rushing water loud enough to deafen.  Loki didn’t seem to even exist any longer, the pain from before dulled into nonexistence, barely left with a conscious as he  repeated the same words over and over again, doing everything he could to drive away the faces of the men and woman that had driven him to this point, to this retreat.

 

_‘As everything must end it must also begin anew.’_

  
  


 

Loki’s eyes snapped open as he felt the flying caravan land, the others at his side humming and murmuring their general thanks that the flight had been successful, bodies set into motion to collect their belongings and disembark for London, according to the announcement of the caravan's captain.  The woman at Loki’s side, blonde and fair, shot him a coy smile as she took her many skirts into hand and wished him a happy visit to the city, before she joined the thin line of other passengers to leave.  Loki blinked rapidly a couple times, attempting to garner some semblance of what was going on, what had happened.  The spell had been intended to restart the universe, to reset everything so that he might still be victorious.  That he still drew breath was proof enough that it had worked, but if he was in London, then _when_ was he?  And how much time would be left to him now that he had reset it?  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story so far, and thanks again so much for reading! From here on out the updates will be more widely dispersed, depending on both of our schedules and when we can get time to sit down and crank 'em out, but we'll do our very best! Thanks again for reading!

“It’s not near tight enough,” Natasha said as she looked down at her waist, already struggling to breathe even as James pulled the laces even tighter, making the color rise in her cheeks with the effort.  Her fingers wrapped around the footboard of her bed where she’d braced herself as he worked, and couldn’t help the breathy laugh from escaping her lips when he cursed in Russian, calling her vain for putting herself through it as he struggled to tighten it even further.  How her ribs never cracked or even broke he would forever wonder.  

 

“I’m fine, James,” she assured him with a pat on his left hand, her fingers unflinching as they touched the metal of his hand.  “And that’s perfect.  Just right.”  

 

“How do you even move in this?”  He asked, binding off the ends of her corset before stepping back to admire his handiwork.  Her waist couldn’t have looked any smaller, and though his right hand stung from having to pull so hard on the leather laces it was worth it so long as she was happy. She looked down at herself, smoothing her fingers over the boning and the soft-spun black fabric, tugging at the bow at the very front to make her breasts press even closer together, enhancing her cleavage.  As if she needed the help, honestly.  He was already near salivating at the sight.  Not for the first time that night, he was certain, as a pang of envy shot through him for the poor son of a bitch who’d receive her full, unadulterated attention that evening.

 

“You’d be surprised at how easy it can be,” she said, her smile turning secretive, as she made her way with ridiculous ease towards the dress hanging up at the other side of the room, fingering the black satin.  Two more months.  Two more months of mourning and then she’d be done with it. She had grown bored of wearing such droll attire since her late husband’s death.  It used to be so easy to catch a man’s eye when she had one of her deep crimson gowns that complimented her complexion and accentuated her bust even further. Wearing black only caused her to blend into the background, and that was the last thing she needed. “Besides, James, it will all pay off. Now, tell me again about Mr. Islington.”

 

“Well, he’s rich.”  James said as he leaned against one of the posts of her bed.

 

She didn’t have to look back at him to know he was smirking, and gave a snort.  Had anyone else had been there it’d have been an embarrassment, but with James?  Hell, he was already looking at her in her underthings.  “Yes.  I gathered that, or else you wouldn’t have bothered getting the information on him.  Come help me tug this on?”  She asked, turning her head to shoot him an enticing smile.  As if he’d resist that.  

 

“Well, he’s the head of a major pharmaceutical distributor for hospitals and asylums, and he’s as dirty as they come,” he admitted with a grimace, removing the dress from the hook it’d been hanging on to help Natasha tug it on over her head, pinning it around the waist so it cinched enough to match how dramatic her waist had become.  She adjusted the straps so they hung just slightly off of her shoulders as he smoothed the rest of it out and shifted and fixed it while she instructed him in a soft voice, though he hardly needed any help.  Without her allowing the maids to help it had fallen on James to get her ready before her events.  It gave them an excuse to be closer to one another, to speak frankly without having to worry about others overhearing, and it wasn’t as though he’d never seen her in less than her undergarments.  “He’s also a regular patron at a brothel in the centre of town, with a proclivity for red hair it seems.  You shouldn’t find it too hard to catch his eye.”

 

“I’ve never found it hard in the past.” Natasha smirked at him over her shoulder. She glanced into the looking glass in front of her, tucked a loose curl back into place and appraised her reflection, sucking and biting at her bottom lip to fatten and redden it. She had to achieve the look of the mournful widow, yet still allow herself to be approached by other men, otherwise this would not work.

 

Without waiting for her to ask for it, James moved towards Natasha’s bureau and opened the first drawer, pulling from it a small, intricate gold and black belt, at the centre of which was a pair of red triangles, their tips meeting.  He snapped it around her waist gently, watched as it hung at the top of her hips, drawing the eye further to how small her waist was.  Perfect.  “He’s got a son, but I don’t believe he’ll be there.  He’s set to inherit the company, but things between them have never been . . . the best,” he said as simply as he could.  If he was frank, from what he had heard the younger had wanted nothing to do with the company and it was a sore matter that drove the two further apart.  There had been threats from Islington Senior of disinheriting his son, and James went over those for Natasha’s benefit as well.  She could use all the information he could give her.  “He recently got remarried after his first wife died, and he did not know your late husband from what I could gather.”

 

“So, there shouldn't be any feelings of betrayal to my beloved Alexei’s memories?”  She asked, quirking an eyebrow as she turned to face him, her hands on her hips, inches above where the first knives were belted to her upper thighs, the thick skirts hiding her weapons without issue.  The one benefit, she supposed, to such ridiculous attire.

 

He sighed.  Would he ever live that one down?  “I told you that was a mistake.”  

 

“Uh-huh.  Nearly cost me.”  She murmured as she stepped forward and pressed her lips gently to his.  “I think you just didn’t like the way he looked at me.”  Her breath ghosted over his freshly shaven cheek, her eyes hooded as she stared up at him with a knowing smile.  

 

One of his hands, his good one, reached out to catch her wrist, careful to keep his grip light enough to keep from harming her.  Bruising her would only garner her anger and a few bruises of his own.  Even if he liked them.  “I never like the way they look at you, but that one deserved to die.  He took pleasure in treating you like a child--.”

 

“I didn’t hear you complain when his more than charitable donation bought you a new gun, or a few improvements for your arm,” she reminded him, her smile going lax as she brought one of her gloved fingers down the metal gears of his left arm.  He liked to pretend he could feel it, the phantom limb he’d lost getting them out of Russia during the war. One of the few things he’d ever thank Ivan for.

 

“I never said he didn’t have his uses, only that I didn’t like him.” James sighed and ran the pad of his thumb over her belt, amused by the way she would sneak in just a dash of brightness to her dark clothing.

 

“You don’t have to like them.” Natasha reminded him, her lips curling into a smile, and her voice lowering into a husky murmur. “Things would get complicated if you _liked_ them.  You just need to find them for me, and then I do all the rest.”

 

That he could do, even if it made his skin crawl to watch them invade her space, try and spin their pretty lies above her head as they wormed their way into her good graces.  Slimy, near useless  bastards, all of them.  At least he had some semblance of control over who was able to go after her.  Even if his plans more often than not went to shit, and it’d happened that someone who wasn’t a target was the one who fell hardest for her, he kept close by to ensure her safety.  When he couldn’t be she would always have her knives, and those who doubted Natasha somehow always managed to end up dead, or a few fingers and pints of blood lighter than they first started.  Of course, he knew she could take care of herself, that was undeniable, but nevertheless, he took comfort in seeing her safe, he always had. There was no possibility of anyone else dressing her and he was always determined to make sure she was fitted with her knives hidden under layers of satin and lace, because after she had lured her men in, and taken them behind closed doors, there was nothing James could do but sit back and wait.  

 

One of her hands grazed the side of his cheek, her eyes focusing intently on him as he came back to whatever it was she was saying.  “James?  Stay with me.”  

 

He shifted his mouth to press it to the back of her hand, kissing her skin with the lightest of touches.  “Sorry, I’m alright.  Just thinking.”

 

“Ah.  Dangerous business, that,” she teased, her eyes brightening slightly.  He allowed himself a good natured, quiet laugh before nodding and going over everything once again.  Yes, it was all perfect, and once they’d gone over the information a second time he escorted her down to the landing, where the coach was waiting to bring her to the gala.  

 

The servants watched in silence as James led Natasha to her coach, and the former stifled a laugh at their blatant disapproval of him and his intimacy with their mistress. Natasha gave off an air of indifference, her head held high as she strode proudly to her coach.  She wasn’t ignorant to the gossip that filled the spacious house in which she resided, she simply didn’t care.  That their arrangements and plannings succeeded was more important to her than what the servants would gossip about in their spare time. There weren’t any boundaries between James and she, and the servants knew it as there wasn’t a maid required to prepare Natasha’s garments before her large social events, Natasha’s need and trust in James surpassing her desire for propriety. There was no fear of their secret getting past the garden gates, however, for no mistress paid so well as Natasha, and no servant wished to lose their job. So James allowed a smirk to cross his lips, and placed his metal hand on the small of Natasha’s back as he helped her into her coach, knowing just how much that would rile up those pious maids and butlers of hers.

 

The two of them settled into the luxurious chaise, Natasha adjusting her skirts, and James fiddling with the cogs on his arm. He looked up at her, his lips still curled at the corners slightly. “Nervous?” He asked, his questions almost seeming absurd by the looks she gave him. He chuckled at the way she cocked and elegant brow and curled her painted red lips.

 

“When have you ever known me to get nervous?” Natasha quipped. She sobered slightly and glanced at him more seriously, her eyes flicking up and down over his form. “You look it though.”

 

“It’s nothing.” He waved away her concern with a flick of his good hand. She didn’t need his concerns weighing on her mind.

 

“James.” Natasha protested, her voice laced with the slightest hint of pleading, the way it would be whenever she wanted something from him.  He’d never resisted it before, and she knew it well.

 

“I always grow somewhat anxious whenever you meet a new target.” James sighed, his eyes downcast as he spoke. “But Islington is different. Each man I present to you is more vile than the last, and I can’t. . . I can’t make the same mistake I made with Alexi.”

 

“I took care of Alexi, James.” She murmured, so the driver could not overhear. “I handled him, and I can handle Islington just the same, should I need to, you know that.”

 

"Do you know what they're calling you around town?" James inquired with a smirk. Natasha shook her head with a look of bemusement. "The Black Widow. The elusive red woman with two dead husbands and a mysterious lover."

 

"Mysterious lover?" Natasha grinned. "I suppose you take that as a compliment. And do not listen to such inane gossip, James. The chief of police told me himself that I am under no investigation for my husband's  untimely passing, and thanks to some of our old connections I have the best lawyer in London on my side."

 

"The chief is intimidated by you." James chuckled. "We left no evidence to convict you, yes, but he knew and I am sure of it."

 

“Sure of it or not, if there is no evidence then there cannot be a trial, and if there cannot be a trial, then I am going nowhere anytime soon.”  With the curtains of her carriage drawn down she leaned over to press a kiss to his lips, the heat of it shooting straight into his belly sure as a bolt of lightning, before she opened them once more.  He smiled when she pulled away before relaxing a little, threading her fingers into his.  It would be alright.  She would figure her way out, sure as she always did, and they would laugh about his paranoia when they were back counting the money they’d made off of the imbecile, and in a few more weeks they’d do it all over again.  

 

 

  

 

Loki had been pleased enough to find that he recognized the era from the history books Frigga had given him centuries ago when, bright eyed and curious, he’d inquired about the histories of Midgard.  While Thor had wanted nothing to do with the realm, his mind set on winning battles and charming women into his bed, Loki had sat down and learned all he could about the inferior mortals and their histories.  

 

This, however, was nothing like what he’d ever been prepared for.  

 

As he disembarked from the flying zeppelin that had brought him to the market in London, according to the signs, he was taken aback by the shouting of the street vendors, peddling gear-covered wears, mechanical birds that chimed with the weather and the current news when you put a coin into their beak, whirring, steam powered guns that promised the most accurate shot that side of the channel.  Others peddled their meat pies, savory with home grown herbs and spices, while spicy meats and fresh fruit were sold just feet away mingling with the other less engaging smells of city life.  His head spun with the new scents, sounds, and sensations as he was buffered through the crowds.  He had to pull away to the side to try and gain some sort of control of himself and his mind, threading fingers through his black hair, far shorter than it had been on at that last battle, and looked down to try and at least take stock of himself.  Thanks to the magic of the spell he’d been dressed to blend in, the cravat pulled tight to his throat while the rest of his outfit was all black, cut in what must’ve been the fashion of the time, yet something was . . . off.  There were cogs where there didn’t need to be, as though the designer had intended to make it look as though it, itself, had been made of the same metal and material as the birds just to his left cawing out the headlines of that days paper.  Curious.  This was what was expected?

 

He looked around and caught sight of men, and women, with similar looking articles of clothing, pinstriped jackets with gears embroidered on the inside of the coat jackets, top hats with thick goggles placed upon them, bronze wrap around belts that emphasized the tiny nature of a woman’s waist that actually seemed to tighten and relax as she walked, emitting slight puffs of steam as though she was made of the metal.  

 

What the Hel was the world coming to?  

 

He was pleased to find he had magic enough to snag a small order of curry chicken--at least he thought that was what it was, not about to ask the man selling to him lest he draw more attention to himself and his technical robbery--as he took another step to the side to watch the people walk on by.  According to the headlines the year was 1899, a hundred or so years before the final battle that he’d nearly--that he’d last fought in.  This world, the one he’d brought himself into, couldn’t have been any more foreign to him, and if he was to survive he would need to gain his bearings quickly enough.  What better way, he supposed, than immersing himself into the culture.  One of his hands moved to the deep pocket of his black jacket, and it filled with the same paper and bronze money he saw exchanged, watching with a keen eye as the buyers and vendors haggled, not at all unlike those street merchants back on Asgard.  To his left he heard talk of a boutique that didn’t seem to fit in the bazaar he’d found his way into, and his attention snapped to the owner of the voice.  The man kept his speech hushed, having pulled his mistress, judging by the lack of a ring and how close they were to one another, to the side just a few feet away from Loki.  

 

“I told you it’s all entirely safe, and I wish for you to meet me there tonight.  They already have a room set out for us.”  

 

“Isn’t that horribly . . . I can’t imagine.  In front of others?”  Her voice turned into a squeak, her eyes wide and cheeks flush with embarrassment and whatever impropriety her lover was suggesting.  

“All in the name of experimentation and discovery, my love,” he promised, catching her chin with the tips of his fingers, running his hands towards her piled-high hair, brushing over the golden cogs and bits of metal that made up a headpiece, bright gems shining in the muted sunlight.  A reminder, Loki was certain, of just how expensive that had been.  She got the message, Loki watching as she stiffened and her cheeks deepened in color.  

 

“Very well.  I still don’t think it’s proper to do . . . that in front of others.”

 

“The turn of the century, my darling.  And we won’t be the only ones, and they won’t know who we even are.  Secrecy is key, but it’ll be fun.”

 

Loki tried not to snort.  He was lying, so very blatantly it amazed Loki that she couldn’t tell, and as the woman inquired about the address again so she could meet him Loki filed it away for further knowledge.  Perhaps he’d see what sort of place it was himself, putting two and two together.  He could use a distraction.  

 

Moments later he found another, in the form of a tall man with blond hair and bright, near terrifying, blue eyes.  Loki’s heart sank as he watched his once brother make his way through the crowds, hair pulled back in a small ponytail, the deep brown suit he wore well tailored to emphasize his bulk without drawing too much attention to himself.  The reflex to disappear was instantaneous, hardly requiring Loki to blink, yet nothing happened.  He didn’t so much as feel himself move half an inch, and he swore internally as he took off moving through the crowd.  It took all his power not to push through them, desperate to get away, but knowing that it would only create more of a spectacle of himself he resisted.  No.  If Thor was there as well then it meant the other Avengers were, too, though they shouldn’t not have known the differences between worlds.  The spell was meant only to maintain the user’s memories, and those whom he came in contact with, if he remembered correctly.  

 

Which meant his brother, he realized with a sinking feeling.  His steps quickened, desperation to get away making him near trip over one of the sitting figures on the side of the street.  The man looked--or rather turned his pale, unseeing eyes upwards to Loki--and held out a hand.  

 

“Please,” he rasped, and Loki felt sick to his stomach, pulling away and trying to get lost within the crowds once more.  How he hadn’t noticed the others before was beyond him, but now that he had it was impossible not to see the decrepit, the dying, and the diseased lining the streets, some with patches over their eyes, others missing limbs or body parts, extending open palms and empty cans or containers towards the milling crowds.  Most were ignored, some were kicked out of the way, and Loki couldn’t help but bite the inside of his cheek.  How often had he, as a youth, played tricks on the same sort of people on Asgard?  How often had he and Thor talked about cleaning the streets of the filth, the unwilling to work?  He’d never thought back to that.  

 

Nothing changed between the realms.  So much for the Aesir thinking themselves so high and above it all when their poverty was the same as Midgard’s.  

 

He cast a quick look behind him, glad to see that the enormous figure of his supposed brother had vanished, and after stepping into a small side-alley he relaxed against the wall, letting his head fall onto his chest.  Just beneath his skin he could feel his magic prickling at his fingertips, nowhere near strong enough to teleport, but just enough to cast illusions.  Glamors.  Just enough to help him, perhaps, find the place he’d heard the other two speak of.  Curiosity and a desire to put as much distance between himself and the bazaar as possible fueling his legs, he murmured a soft homing spell, and allowed his magic to pull him back out into the streets, down nameless cobblestoned paths and walkways.  It was all he could do not to stare, zeppelins not unlike the one that had brought him there hanging high above in the sky, floating with the wind or else driving to some other destination, some port Norns only knew where.  On each street corner he passed he saw aged, yellowing propaganda urging the men of the country to join the military, that there was glory and riches and he recognized those blue eyes--.  

 

Captain Steven Rogers stared out at him from the propaganda, the man saluting and smiling, brown army jacket decorated with a myriad of pins that meant nothing to Loki, but obviously meant a lot to the country.  Though they were old none of them had been defaced, a strange change from the world he’d left, and he paused near one of the more major streets, stepping closer without being able to stop himself--.  

 

A hand on his shoulder yanked him back and out of the way of an oncoming black carriage, a flash of--was that a metal arm?--catching his attention from the window, before looking at the man who’d caught him.  Blue eyes, a crooked grin, a mess of dirty blond hair not unlike the man on the posters had he been a few inches taller.  He’d been inside this man’s head, and he felt his eye widen as he recognized Clint Barton shooting him an easy smile and a pat on the back.  

 

“Might wanna get your eyes checked,” he said, American accent a harsh change in comparison to the smooth curve of words of those around him.  

 

“Right.  Thank you,” he said with a curt nod, twisting his head to look behind him.  No more carriages, nothing else that could run him over, and with as quick of feet as he could muster he scurried away.  If Barton was there, and Thor, and Rogers, how many others would he have to be on a look out?  What was more there hadn’t been any recognition in Barton’s features as he looked at Loki, and though the dress was different Loki couldn’t have been that well disguised as to fool the clever archer, his eyes were far too good for that.  He caught a peek at the poster once more, eyeing Steve Rogers’ easy smile.  

 

If they didn’t remember him then they couldn’t attack him, couldn’t come after him.  His heart slowed down to its regular speed, the new information soothing him.  He felt the tug of his magic once more, and with one last look back at where the archer was standing across the street, he followed it.  One thing at a time, he supposed.  If he was going to make this work, then he would have to be diligent about it, smarter than them.  

 

Besides, if the other men had come around then it was likely their redheaded assassin would be somewhere in the vicinity, and if her memory of him was as blank as the others . . . well then.  He felt his heart beginning to speed again, the excitement giving him a slight head rush as the possibilities flooded his brain.

 

The establishment smelled of shit, if Loki was honest.  Shit, sex, and come, an odd trio of scents that made him take a step back even before he’d gotten to the cellar door that looked as though it might act as the entrance.  The man sitting just beside it let out a guffaw of a laugh, blowing out sweet-smelling smoke from a bronze pipe.  

 

“Turns the weak ones away,” he teased, winking one good eye at Loki.  “If you ain’t got the stomach for that, then you ain’t gonna wanna go inside.”  

 

“How much?”  Loki asked, trying not to grit his teeth at the innuendo.  He’d seen more than this man could ever hope to, and he didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he was weak. It was merely bizarre to Loki that a place that was supposed to provide relief and pleasure to its patrons could be so repelling.

 

“To enter?” The man grinned, bearing his few, rotten teeth toward Loki, who stifled a cringe of disgust. “We do not charge for admittance, only the hours you spend here.”

 

“No.” Loki crinkled his nose as the man laughed, blowing more of the pipe fumes in his direction. “How much for the establishment?”

 

That made the man pause.  “‘S not for sale.”  

 

Loki smirked, pulling a wad of bills from his pocket, having seen similar ones as he’d walked through the bazaar.  He could only assume, by the way the man’s eyes grew wide, that he’d guessed the right monetary values.  “It’s not?  Name a price.”

 

“What good would your money do me?  I need an income, and this makes it,” the man said, voice growing curt now as he turned angry, standing to face Loki though he was a good half a foot shorter and so was reduced to looking up at the demigod.  Loki had to hand it to him, he hadn’t anticipated the man to be intelligent.  

 

“Why not retire?”  Loki tried to coax.  “Much nicer than scraping by.”

 

“Look, I dunno who the fuck you are, but get offa my property.”  The man growled, his eyes narrowing as he stuck the pipe between his teeth and pulled a gun from his belt.  The gears shifted slowly as he cocked it, and though Loki might’ve been impervious to bullets in the past he wasn’t keen to find out, now, if he was or if his magic was tied to his inability to be shot.  It simply wasn’t worth it.  

 

“I could gamble for it.”  He said.  “If it’s not for sale then I will earn it.  I wish to own this establishment.”  And he would, dammit all.  

 

He needed someplace to settle for the time being and gather his bearings of the place. This little establishment seemed like just the place, it was out of the way, discreet, yet if he played his cards right, he knew this place could make him hundreds just by a little exploitation on his part.

 

The man looked up at him curiously, chewing on the end of his pipe in thought. Money might not have garnered much interest, but the thought of a wager?  It seemed Loki had hit a nerve.  

 

“Name a game, and I could give you a chance.” The other man slurred, and with a sly twitch of his lips he stepped back to lean against the wall. “There ain’t many who I can’t beat.”

 

“Then you have nothing to fear,” Loki smiled, as though this was nothing more than a conversation between friends.  As though he didn’t have something he wanted on the line.  

  
They decided on a card game, one that they both happened to know by some stroke of luck, and the man brought him inside so they could play.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the views, kudos, and comments--they're all incredible, and we're so glad you guys are all enjoying the fic so far! Here's another chapter, and thanks again!

It was like oil through water, the way that the crowds parted for Natasha as she made her way into the reception hall.  She let her lips quirk into a satisfied smile, watching their faces as they stared back at her.  A few women turned to one another to murmur gossip between them, not being quiet enough, it seemed, as Natasha was able to pick up on fractions of their conversation.  Rather than letting it alarm her or irritate her, it only served to amuse her more.

 

“I think she can scarce breathe in such a tight corset.  That’s not in fashion.”

 

“Isn’t she still in mourning?” Whispered one. “Why does she wear a red belt?  The scandal.  It’s only been three months, hasn’t it?”

 

“I suppose that young man with her is her new consort now that she’s inherited all her husband’s money.”

 

Natasha could have laughed at the last woman, though she was rather used to it by now.  James had been by her side for years, and it was inevitable that people would talk. She felt  James’ cold metal hand through the layers of fabric on the small of her back as he gently guided her to the side of the room to some chairs, music filtering and covering their hushed conversation from a corner of the enormous room.

 

“Islington hasn’t arrived yet.” He muttered in her ear before she took her seat. “I suppose it’s in fashion to be late to your own event.”

 

“Go around the room and check again.” She insisted, and she gave a sweeping glance around it herself, trying her best not to look eager, but she did hate it when this happened. She always felt more comfortable when she could find her target the moment upon stepping into the room, able to examine them from a distance and find the right moment to make her move.  Besides, the less time she spent in such dreary company the better.  As James moved to make his rounds again, she sat back in her chair and allowed her gaze to wander, tracking down the women who had said such things about her.  When her eyes connected with one of them, that which had made a comment about James being her consort, she couldn’t help but smirk, and attention made the woman’s cheeks redden and turn away.  If only she knew what Natasha had done to the lady’s husband not three weeks ago, having pried not only the bank notes from his wallet but having done so as he palmed her breasts through her corset and mauled her neck with his pathetic attempts at kisses.  And she had the nerve to insinuate Natasha was the whore?  Interesting that the woman’s husband was nowhere in sight.  

 

Though they all seemed to be doing their best to keep their voices down, the gossip and the chatter was still loud enough to reach Natasha’s ears from where she sat, even if she was four or so feet away from the crowds.  She gritted her teeth and bared it through all of the questions about her ex-husband, about how he died.  That news got old.  Quickly.  A few of the women seemed to think that Natasha had done it, and it was all she could do not to stand up, congratulate them on being the most intelligent of the lot, and tell them that if they weren’t careful then perhaps they’d end up the same way.  Especially if they kept talking about her the way they were.  

 

“She can’t possibly be that dangerous,” one of the men coming into the conversation was saying, smirking, as though the thought was ludicrous.  Natasha barely kept from rolling her eyes.  Yes, what a great lot this was turning out to be.  

 

“I’m telling you.”  The woman cast a sideways glance at Natasha, brown eyes meeting Nat’s own blue ones.  The corners of Natasha’s lips pulled upwards into an inviting smile that made the woman shudder.  “Have you ever seen a rose without thorns?  Lovely she may be, but don’t take her lightly.”  

 

Perhaps she wasn’t as idiotic as Natasha first thought.  She made a mental note to show the man holding the woman’s hand a first priority as soon as she was done with Islington.  With a heavy sigh, she sat back in her seat and peered down at her hands folded in her lap, waiting for James to return to her, eyes lazily moving from the decadent walls, dressed in opulent golds and blacks, to the high class imbeciles that had turned up to provide money for the supposed charity.  It was rather enjoyable to see the sort of effect she had on those that surrounded her, a few even brave enough to come up to her and greet her, welcoming her to the party.  To them she offered her warmest of smiles, taking hands and allowing her own to be kissed when a gentleman was brave enough, but these were no friends.  These smiling, pathetic sycophants were simply interested in the stories surrounding her, curious enough to risk their own supposed life and limb to figure out whether she really had fangs, or her eyes glowed red in the correct lighting, as if she were a spider come from the pits of Hell to devour them all whole.  She knew what they called her behind her back, and once her second husband had passed the frequency had increased exponentially.  

 

No matter.  

 

Though it felt like a lifetime, Natasha eventually caught sight of James speaking with the man who would be her target for the evening, and she smiled to see that he’d finally arrived, sneaking peeks at Islington and his young, naive looking wife from around the boy who currently thought he had her attention.  Their backs were to her at first, but as James moved it allowed Natasha a better look at the pair of them, a better vantage point from which she could get a good feel for the next phase.  Bless James for his thoughtfulness.

 

She watched Islington, preparing herself to make her move, and studied every twitch in his large frame, every expression on his wrinkled face. He was a portly man, dressed in fine garments, and by the way some of the guests glanced in his direction, it was clear he was held in high esteem. Natasha had never heard of him, not until James had provided him as her next target.  What a pleasure it would be to ruin him. She stood from her chair, ignoring the glances in her direction, and brushed down her dress before walking slowly towards Islington and James.

 

James caught sight of her, and noticed the way she seemed to slowly prowl around the room, evaluating the situation and subtly taking every chance she could to study Mr. Islington and his wife. He inwardly smirked at the fire in her eyes, the look of excitement for the inevitable. She loved the chase just as much as she loved the kill.

 

“Mr. Islington, I hope it wouldn’t be dreadfully audacious of me to ask your wife for a dance.” James smiled charmingly at the pair and triumphed at the way Mrs. Islington seemed to brighten at the idea.

 

“Not at all,” Islington replied, waving a lazy had towards his wife as if to say ‘she’s all yours.’

 

Without waiting for another response, James offered the poor woman his arm, whirling her off onto the dance floor as Natasha neared her target, smoothing her dress and catching Islington’s eye as she passed.  

 

“Good Lord, if I lost my husband I wouldn’t be out in public for at least over a year.  It’s not right.  It’s only been three months.”

 

“And wearing _red_?  Does she realize she looks like a--a woman of the night?”  

 

“That was her second husband.  Perhaps she did it--.”

 

“Shh!  Don’t say that so loudly!”

 

This time the chatter didn’t bother her perhaps as much as it ought to have, and she was only going to make more reason for gossip as she came to stand in front of one of the few people she cared about in the throngs of England’s elite.  She tapped the man she’d been moving towards on the shoulder, grinning when he turned to face her, even if it hardly made a difference.  For him.  

 

“What are you up to this evening, Lady Natasha?”  Matthew Murdock asked, his head tipped to the side.  He could hardly see her, she knew, and felt comforted that he couldn’t tell that she was using him.  

 

Well, strike that.   _He_ likely could.  There were a great many things that Murdock knew, even with his poor eyesight, that always astounded her.  One for the medical books, she supposed.  “They keep whispering about how improper you are, all these other women,” he said, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.  

 

“Oh please, Matthew.  You know better than to listen to the incessant chatter of women, don’t you?”  She teased.  

 

“Sorry, what was that?”  He asked, tipping his head to the side, and she gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, laughter genuine and filling his frame.  

 

“They’re simply upset that I’m here and attracting their husbands’ attentions away from them.  As though that’s difficult.”  She admitted with the roll of her eyes, using the opportunity of having Matt so close to take another look around.  Yes, good, Islington’s eyes were still on her, focusing on her backside if she was reading him correctly.  Pig.  

 

“You might want to think about making friends, Natasha.  They can be awfully helpful,” Matt said, and his words carried a ring of truth to them.  She looped her arm through his, and he relaxed in her hold.  

 

“But Matthew, I thought we were friends.”  She pouted, though he couldn’t see it, but it made her lips look all the plumper, and the way that she was now turned, well, she felt pins and needles on her skin as though Islington’s attention was being drawn further upwards.  That was enough baiting, she supposed, if he was going to be so blatant about his gaze.  Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss to Matthew’s cheek.  

 

“Be good, Mr. Murdock, won’t you?”  

 

“Stay out of trouble.  I can’t promise to always get you off the hook, Natasha,” Matt’s brow drew in tight, and even as his face turned in her direction his gaze wasn’t focused on her.  Natasha smiled and patted him on the shoulder gently.  

 

“You’ll always be the first one I call either way,” she promised as she turned to come near face to face with Mr. Islington.  She started, as though not knowing exactly that he’d be right there, and her hand jumped up to her lips, eyes widening in surprise.  “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry sir.  I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

 

“It was not your fault at all my dear,” the man said, his eyes crinkling in supposed good-humor though she caught him focusing on the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her dress.  Good.  She arched her back slightly, standing a little straighter, watched his gaze follow the movement. The song playing in the background was a familiar one, one that required for a slightly more intimate dance, and she smiled as she turned her head slightly, using the light to her advantage so that it made her hair shine all the more.  If he liked redheads, well he would damn well love her.  

 

“I love this song,” she admitted, quietly.  “And I don’t think we’ve met before.  I am Natasha Romanova-Shostakov.”  Another slash against her name, that hyphen, but if he had any thoughts on it he kept quiet.  Surprising, she had to admit.  When she extended her hand to offer it to him he pressed his lips to the back of it, as though she were any other lady he was interested in courting.  

 

“Ethan Islington, a pleasure to meet you madam.  Would you do me the kindness of dancing with me?  I’m afraid my wife has already been whisked away by a dapper young gentleman and I didn’t have the heart to ask her to stay at my side when so many others want for her attention.”  

 

“I can’t imagine why she’d choose to leave you,” Natasha said, her voice a sultry purr as she followed Islington to the dance floor.  True to what he’d said, James and her target’s wife were dancing, the pair of them clearly enjoying themselves before Islington wrapped his arm around Natasha’s waist and whirling her around to the next swell of music.  His hand slipped a little further down than was strictly proper, and when she didn’t say or do anything she caught the way his lips curved upwards.  The more he thought himself getting away with, Natasha knew, the better off she’d be.  

 

“How have I not met you before?”  Islington asked.  “I’ve never seen you at one of my galas before.”

 

Natasha turned her face downwards, making a show of swallowing thickly.  “I rarely allow myself to go out.  They remind me too much of my darling Alexei, he did love to dance so much.  But I thought I owed myself a kindness, and I don’t think Alexei would want me to suffer over his memory for too long.  After all.”  The hand that held onto his shoulder squeezed, and when he met her eye rather than staring either over her head or at her chest, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, a trick James had taught her that worked rather well.  “You only live once, don’t you?  I don’t see the point in hiding behind the restrictions and rules of the time.  There’s so much to experience,” she shifted so that her hip brushed against his and felt him almost immediately stiffen against her.  “So many people to get to know better.  I wouldn’t think Alexei would want me to suffer in solitude when I can make so many good friends.”  

 

It did the trick.  She watched as he took a shuddering breath and as they danced on he worked her towards the edge of the room, all the while assuring her that yes, he agreed with her, and it would be a disservice to her beauty for her to hide away for all of her life.  

 

She wondered, when she had his cock down her throat half an hour or so later, after they’d finished dancing around the engineered chemistry between them, and he was shuddering above her, if he said shit like that to his wife to get her into bed with him, or if she was just lucky.  No matter.  She swirled her tongue around his shaft, swallowing him down without much difficulty (he wasn’t exactly anything to write home about, though she moaned and praised him when she pulled off) and when he came into her hand she used the plush curtains to wipe her hand off on.  Her mind wasn’t on the task, anyway, occupied instead with James’ current mission to abscond the enormous collection of jewels currently held in one of Islington’s vaults, awaiting trade on the auction the gala was simply a cover up for.  

 

All this he’d revealed to her in a half an hour, with enough time to spare for her to track James down, fill him in on where everything was hidden and the combination she’d deciphered from the way that Islington had managed the lock.  

 

Half an hour was more than enough time, she thought, as she smiled up at him and rose to kiss him deeply, smearing her lipstick.  She’d fix it later.  Now she focused on getting the man into the nearest bed, to get him resting while his body struggled to adapt to its weakened state.  James would find his own way home, he always did, and without another word to Islington she left the room in a bustle of black skirts and a flash of red hair, running a finger along the edges of her lips to destroy the evidence.  Any more would only be revealed to Islington’s detriment if he ever went after her, or tried to explain just why he was too occupied to notice his collection was being raided.  

 

Later, that evening, James draped pearls as thick as Natasha’s thumb in her hair, kissing his way down the base of her neck, where an enormous ruby necklace already sat on her collarbone.  She grinned and preened at herself in the mirror, in nothing but the garters and stockings and the deep black corset she’d wore underneath all of her mourning get up.  It felt so freeing, so incredibly taboo and perfect to be this way, even if it was just with James.  What she wouldn’t give to walk around, draped in jewels and nothing else, for the rest of her life.  They all valued her for her beauty and her body anyway, why shouldn’t she show it off?

 

“They fit you,” James promised against her skin, breathing her in, the chill of his metal hand sending goosebumps up her skin.  

 

“They fit a queen.  I can’t believe that imbecile was so vain as to think a single vault would protect them.”

 

“You are a queen,” James insisted.  

 

“I’m serious, James.”  

 

“So am I.”  

 

She turned and smiled, kissing him fully on the lips, shivering again as the thumb of his hand brushed against her cheek, having cupped the side of her face.  When they pulled apart she was flush faced and her eyes were glazed.  

 

“A queen am I?”  She asked, voice broken by her desire.  

 

“Yes.”  His was equally as hoarse.  

 

“Then bow down before me, servant,” she teased, shifting so she could bring him to his knees in front of her.  He knew what to do.  

 

\--

 

He watched the other man leave, head bowed in shame from having lost what was supposedly his best game.  Perhaps magic had had something to do with it, Loki had to admit, but he’d always been good at cards, at playing the opponent rather than the hand given to him.  That he could simply cast a glamor to ensure he always had the best hand, no matter the situation, was simply a foolproof for his plan.  He could feel his magic begin to wane, but reminded himself to check it out later.  Then was not the time to show any sort of weakness.  

 

As he entered the building the smell only got worse, so that would be the first thing that would have to go.  The door opened up to a wide, oval shaped entrance hall, the floors covered in dirt and grime, with doors leading to various rooms on the edges, or else hallways.  The walls were papered with something that might’ve once been gold, but now looked the color of sick, great holes punched every so often, while the paper peeling from the corners.  The scent of someone boiling food hit his nostrils as he grew closer, vegetables he thought, and the entrance room was entirely empty of customers, though he imagined it would get busier during the evening.  The few people that were waiting around in the belly of the establishment were women, dressed in thin, worn down dresses that looked more fit to clean with rather than to wear, doing up their cheeks with rouge and rimming their eyes with kohl, before looking over at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.  

 

“Are you here for a show?  You’re a little early,” one of them, with hair that looked red-blonde in color, asked, tipping her head to the side as her blue eyes sized up the splendor of his outfit.  

 

“No, I am the new manager.  Your previous boss has stepped down,” he said simply, stepping around the small collection of girls, watching as their gazes turned from predatory to anxious.  “Nothing will be disrupted, I only seek to restore this place to its former . . . glory.”  

 

“Glory?”  One of the women asked, this one with dark hair, laughing as she tipped her head back.  “What the hell type of place do you think we run here?”  

 

“One that can be much, much better than before.  Imagine lining your pockets, not just scraping by.  Being able to afford silks,” he ran his fingers over the shoulders of the nearest girl, a buxom young woman whose mop of dark brown hair was pulled up into a bun atop her head, and felt her shudder.  “Furs.  Gems beyond your imagining.  I can help you achieve that, so long as you help me.”  

 

“Why should we trust you?  What’s to say you’re not worse than Tommy was?  All men are the same when you get down to it.”  A third asked, this one with shrew, calculating eyes.  

 

“There are no men like me,” he smirked, though the words brought a jolt of pain as he remembered repeating the same thing to the Captain.  That was another life, another universe.  This, now, was all that mattered.  “Now, you can take me at my word, or you can seek work at another establishment.  The choice is yours.  But stick with me and you will not regret it, I swear it to you.”  

 

The girls looked up at him sceptically, sharing glances with each other, until the girl with calculating eyes and the red blonde hair stepped forward, her brow drawn as she broke the silence that had fallen upon them. “You really think you can make this place thrive?”

 

“I can assure you.” Loki replied curtly, tilting his head up to look down his nose on the girl.

 

“Well,” She relaxed a little and looked back at the other girls. “I suppose I’ll stay, I’ve never even felt silk before.”

 

“It can, and will, all be yours.  You’ll no longer live in squalor, I can promise you that.” Loki grinned charmingly, and each girl seemed to relent, some even smiling in return at the idea of the new management. He couldn’t blame them for their apprehension, he’d seen enough brothels on Asgard while out looking for Thor to know that the women there were never treated as well as their master made it seem, but even then, they wouldn’t deprive themselves the opportunity to stay somewhere that didn’t stink of shit and sex all the time.

 

Loki looked about the room, taking it in and wrinkling his nose in disgust. First things first, he’d open the doors wide for sure, to get that stomach churning stench out of the place.  Using magic was out of the question, no matter how strong it was, he was weak enough as it was. But maybe he’d have a girl wash the bedsheets while he made himself familiar with the establishment.  The cleaner the place was the more customers he could attract. He had no idea how long he would be stuck in this world, where everything seemed somewhat off. In his youth he had studied the history of Midgard, as well as other worlds in Yggdrasil, but he had never seen an era like this, it was familiar to him, but something just wasn’t right about it, and it was making him anxious. So for the meantime, he knew he had to lay low, especially if Thor had come to this world with him, and perhaps this dark, warren-like place could be the perfect opportunity for him.  At the very least it might buy him some time.  

 

He looked back at the girls, who still gazed up at him, their tinted lips curled slightly at the prospects of the  future he could provide for them. “I’ll close business for the day.” Loki announced tiredly. The strain from casting such an excessive spell was catching up to him. “I need this place clean, no one wants to fuck in their own dirt.”  His eyes caught on the red head that had spoken up the first time.  “You, what is your name?”

 

“Virginia Potts.”

 

He did everything he could not to smirk.  Oh, this was too good.  “Come with me, Ms. Potts.”  

 

There were cat calls and crows of laughter from the other women as Virginia stood up and made her way towards Loki, following him as he beckoned, before he set the other women to work cleaning up the place.  Virginia followed him without another word, though her gaze was curious enough.  

 

“I need you to tell me about the usual clientele, about how this establishment was run before I came along.  If I am to run it well and do my job then I must have all the information I can get my hands on.”  

 

Whatever she’d been expecting it hadn’t been that, and her eyes widened slightly.  “Okay.  Well I am supposed to have a meeting today with Anthony Stark, he’s a regular of mine.”  

 

Loki’s brain clicked at the name.  “A regular?  How often?”

 

“Four times a week, around ten in the evenings.”  

 

“And does he request just you for the evenings?”  That didn’t seem very much like the Stark Loki had had his run ins with.  From what he’d gathered, Tony had wanted everything he could have, and then some.  He’d wanted the world, the same as Loki did, but whereas Loki had to work for it Tony was simply given.  It made his jaw ache from clenching his teeth so hard.  

 

“No.”  

 

Hah, he knew it.

 

“He usually has another man sent up to join.  Dressed in a uniform.  We have a few gentlemen from Her Majesty’s that come around to help every so often.  Nice men.”  

 

Oh, well there was another surprise.  He supposed it made sense, though the uniform made him smirk.  So, he had harbored a soft spot for a man in uniform in this life, too.  It had been all too easy to see that in the universe he was born in, but to see that it carried over?  Curious.  “Your meeting with him will go ahead tonight,” he said with a nod.  “I wish to have a word with him afterwards, though.  When he does come to pay you a visit then you will alert me immediately, and then when you have finished for the evening you will send him to speak with me.”  

 

“Yes, sir.”  She said with a dip of her head.  Clever girl, she was.  The red of her hair toyed with the edges of his mind, and he tried not to think too hard about Agent Romanov.  She was a distraction he couldn’t afford right now.  

 

For the rest of the afternoon he oversaw the women cleaning up the brothel, and with the door wide open ushering in the at least fresher air of the outside it didn’t take too long for them to make some headway.  Tomorrow, when his magic was rested, he’d do more to it but for then it would have to do.  The linens were cleaned, washed and drying, by the time evening came around.  As instructed, Tony Stark alone was permitted to enter, and even in this world he was ostentatious as all get out, dressed in his very best black pin striped suit as though begging attention to be payed to him, his eyebrows rising as he took a look around.  Between his fingers clicked a few gold coins, flicking them between his knuckles as though he was nervous about something.  

 

“Wow, Tommy, you did a hell of a job--who’re you?”  He asked, catching sight of Loki when he walked in with Pepper, who was dressed in a far nicer get up than before.  Gone were the rags and pathetic excuse for shoes he’d seen the women wearing before.  The previous owner, as he had found out, had managed to save a great deal of money, and Loki had put it all back into the business, affording the women new dresses and shoes, new garters and lingerie that would do far more than simply barr their customers from getting to what they want, but entice them to take their time, look, enjoy.  It was all part of an experience that Loki knew would soon gain enough attention to get he, and the others, by.  

 

“My name is Loki, and I’m afraid Tommy is no longer in the picture.  I will be running this place from now on,” Loki said, extending his hand so that Stark had to stop moving the coin in order to take his hand.  

 

“Right.  Nice to meet you.  How’d you convince Tommy to hand this up?  It was all he had.”

 

“Then he ought not to have gambled it away,” Loki gave a one shouldered shrug.  He drew closer so that they could lower their voices.  “I aim to run a better business than my predecessor, Mr. Stark,” Loki said, keeping his smile as inviting as he could.  “And I am thrilled and honored to have your patronage.  If there is anything I can acquire for you.  Anything at all,” he met his gaze at those words with such intensity it made Tony shiver.  “Please let me know and I will do what I can to meet your wishes.”  

 

Tony paused, his hand still locked in Loki’s grip.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean--.”

 

“Certainly not.  There are only secrets down here, Mr. Stark.  Nothing more.  You need not fear secrets for they are stillborn creatures, never leaving this very space.  I assure you.  Come, Ms. Potts will show you to your room.  I have ensured it is set up to your every requirement.”  

 

“Is it really?”  Tony asked, and Loki watched a muscle in his jaw twitch.  Loki nodded.  

 

“Yes, it is.  Please, enjoy yourself, and once you are done if I could beg an audience I’d very much appreciate it.”  Loki released Tony’s hand, watched as it fell to his side.  

 

“Right.  Thanks, I guess.”  

  
No, Loki had a feeling he’d be thanking Stark soon enough.  


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t want to get up, Natasha,” James groaned as Nat rubbed his back, running her nails down his skin so that it pebbled with gooseflesh beneath her touch.  She smiled in spite of his discontent, leaning over to press her lips against the space between his shoulder blades.  

 

“It’s market day, you need to get up.  I cannot go without my escort,” she teased, running her teeth over his skin before biting down where his throat adjoined with his shoulders.  He groaned, the noise soft and intimate as he turned to face her, smirking.  

 

“You expect me to get out of bed when you act like that?”  He asked, voice husky with the early morning but eyes bright with excitement.  Biting her bottom lip, she rolled over to the other side and got out of bed, grinning.  

 

“If you want me, then you’ll have to catch me.”  

 

That got him out from under the down comforter and silk sheets quickly enough, his eyes bright and predatory as he watched her shift backwards, moving towards the walls.  She loved watching him like this, remembering how he’d first taught her how to defend herself, how she’d watched him fight when he was first growing accustomed to his metal arm, all smooth lines and languid movements that could cut a man down in little to no time.  He’d taught her everything she knew, which made it easy to evade him as he charged after her, fingertips of his normal hand having barely slipped around her wrist before she easily pulled away from him.  He was close behind, tugging her by the shoulder until she spun around and he caught her with an arm around her waist.  

 

“Got you,” he murmured against her skin, tasting her collarbone and setting his teeth into the soft flesh.  She groaned, legs going malleable beneath her, grateful that he was holding her up, before she managed to strike him in the side, taking him by surprise and bringing him down to his knees.  She smirked, pushing him down the rest of the way with a knee on his shoulder, then a foot on his chest.  

 

“So you think.”  She teased, removing her foot in order to slowly kneel down at his side, bringing her lips to his temples and kissing her way down to his own, her hips covering his.  She couldn’t do this with anyone else, this strange, almost too intimate roll of her hips against his through the fabric, his fingertips skating up the skin of her legs as he pulled the fabric of her nightgown up and around her hips.  The chill of his metal fingers made her stiffen and gasp, but the heat of his real fingers on her slit, already wet and waiting for him, chased the chills away.  She threw her head back, chest heaving and back arching as he slid one finger, then two into her.  She wasn’t one to let him on top, craving the control she got from being in the position she was, yet he found his own ways to take control of the situation, and though her body burned for it she couldn’t help the nagging in her head that wished he’d just let her have full control.  Just once.  

 

Still, it was more than she ever got from anyone else, and she welcomed it in whichever form she was allowed.  He slid the hem of his own clothing upward and pressed into her a moment or two later, withdrawing his fingers to grasp at her hips as she gasped and moaned his name.  Something about being on the floor felt so right, so dirty and common and perfect, she couldn’t help but place her hands on his chest and rock, taking him in as deeply as she could.  He gasped, nails pulling at the fabric of her nightgown, one hand trailing upwards to cup the back of her head and tangle his fingers in her red curls as he bucked up into her.  She gave a keen of longing, head lolling into his hold as he massaged at the skin and still feeling that minor, irksome flare in her stomach.  Why couldn’t she just, for once, take over?  She could do it herself.  In a moment of frustration, she brought one of her own hands between them and rubbed at the nub of nerves between her legs, hissing as she tightened around him.  She wanted to bring him off first, more than adept at helping herself finish, but when she tried to go faster, to push herself up and down atop him, he released her hand to take her hips fully again.  

 

“Hey, no rush,” he grinned, leaning up to kiss her, ignoring the hand on his chest that tried to keep him pressed to the ground, and though she gave a muffled groan of discontent at how slow he took it from there, she allowed him the control he so obviously wanted.  Right.  She was grateful for what she had, she couldn’t deny, but there were just sometimes she wanted, well, just a little more.  

 

They finished and dressed soon after, Natasha’s purpled and bruised skin hiding just beneath the thick fabric she’d chosen to don that day, a lighter grey than perhaps was permitted her, with a green bow in her hair.  An enormous emerald and gold broach that had been a present from Alexei on their wedding day hung just between her breasts, calling more attention than was strictly allowed to her chest. Not that she gave a damn.  James tilted her chin with his metal index finger and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

 

“You look perfect.”

 

She gave him a small smile and moved away, stopping by her looking glass to check her reflection. She pinched her cheeks a few times to rouge them and brushed some hair from her face. “Let’s go.”

 

They climbed into a coach that James had called for, Natasha first, and she sat by the window, quietly watching the streets passing by as they moved. “We’re going to be late.”  She’d wanted to leave much earlier, after all, and had James simply waken up the first time she’d asked him, rather than having to persuade him--.

 

Those were ugly thoughts, ones she didn’t want to give life to.  It was just her remaining bitterness from earlier, that was all, she promised herself.  

 

“The market doesn’t close for another three hours.” James muttered as he checked his pocket watch. He glanced up at her, noticing the way she stared blankly out into the streets, her expression placid. “Is everything ok?”

 

In truth, she wasn’t ok, and she hated feeling such, she knew she was a powerful woman, with more money than most in London, but did she have to constantly be the object of someone’s scrutiny?  The woman watched at all times of day to ensure that she was still following orders, that she was still following a plan?  She chanced a glance at James, his brows puckered in confusion as he watched her, she shook her head and turned back to the window. “I’m perfectly fine, James.”

 

For the rest of the journey she made sure to wear a small smile, warding off any more of James’ concerns, but she knew he watched her, he always did, so profusely. She knew he only sought to protect her, and she couldn’t even imagine where she would be without him having been by her side throughout all of the years. She loved him, but under his constant scrutiny it was becoming all the more common that she felt like a prisoner. Such thoughts made her hate herself for thinking in such a way, but it was the truth, and she couldn’t escape them.

 

The coach trundled to a stop on the cobblestone path just beside the markets entrance. It was busy, with a constant flow of men and women walking from stall to stall in search of the latest goods. James helped her from the coach with an offered hand and she stepped out, examining her surroundings, as was her habit to do, after one too many incidents in the past. The market was the hotspot for pickpocketing, she should know that, she and James had partaken in a bit of it when their funds had been low one month. James laughed at her as he watched her survey the scene, and he shook his head with amusement.

 

“I’ve already checked, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He smiled and took his hand from hers, having realised they had held each other for a few seconds too long.

 

Natasha flashed him a small grin and began making her way around the busy market. She admired the soft silks of one tradesmans dresses, running her fingers through the fabrics soft pleats and inquiring to the price. She tapped her fingernail against the jewels on some of another tradesmans brooches and rings, comparing colours as James stood behind her occasionally giving his input, but primarily he scanned the crowds around them with uncertain eyes. He never liked the market much, but he put up with it for her, to see the smile it put on her face to do something a little normal once and a while. She enjoyed the thrill of stealing from a rich mans pocket more than anything, but every so often a little normality was just perfect.

 

And besides, whilst she fawned over paintings and other goods they sold there, he had the chance to find their next target. Everybody came to the market, the rich to buy their goods, and the poor to beg for charity, it was the hunting ground for fat, rich men, unhappy with their wives and ready to do anything for a woman like Natasha, she knew that. James often caught her glancing at certain men, curling her plump lips and slowly looking them up and down.  Of course with such attention the men’s eyes would bulge and they would stutter and scoff in surprise, hastily fixing their waistcoats and turning back to their wives, albeit not fully, as even after Natasha had smirked and turned back to browsing the stalls, James would often see these men glancing back at her hopefully. It certainly made for a more amusing afternoon.

 

“What did you think of that one?” Natasha inquired over her shoulder as she continued to look through old books at one of the vendors stalls. “The one with the blue overcoat?”

 

“He certainly seemed interested.” James said, and he watched the aforementioned man guiding his wife away into a luxurious black carriage. He was a balding, old, portly and with a greying beard that obscured a good part of his facial features “I’ve seen him around here before. Shall I look into it?”

 

“Yes, do.” Natasha whispered quickly. James turned to see her hand a vendor three shillings as he handed her a neatly wrapped parcel of books. She smiled and thanked him, turning back to James and smiling up at him with her intense blue eyes. “He should be an easy target. Did you see the way he almost abandoned his wife to come over to me?”

 

“I think most people wanted to do that.” James grinned. She smirked as though it were obvious and wandered to the next stall, where they sold exotic fruits and teas.

 

Natasha looked over the fruits with uncertain looks, her fingers dancing over them, not quite knowing what to choose. “Try this, ma’am, try this.” The vendor eagerly picked two round yellow fruit from their baskets and handed them to her.  “Fresh shipment from the other side of the world.  Just came in this morning.”

 

She pressed the fruit gently to her lips and bit into it’s flesh with a small moan of delight. “How much?” she asked once she had swallowed her mouthful. James sighed as she handed him her parcels of books so she could do business, and turned back to watch the passers by to keep himself occupied. It would be a long day.

 

She was perusing a collection of lace gloves when she spotted him. Green eyes following her every move, twinkling with interest, mischief, and a shred of familiarity though she’d never seen him before in her life. Natasha nudged James where he stood beside her, though he looked another way. She nodded her head in the direction of her watcher, her jaw tense. James seemed to stiffen too at her conduct.  It was more common that she would deal with a man’s interest herself, and she would do a damn fine job of it too. They both looked back at where the watcher had once stood, but he had disappeared in their distraction. Natasha twisted her neck to find him again, her brows pulled together tightly in confusion. This was new.

 

Even James seemed bewildered, as he sharply turned to find what caused Natasha such grief. She looked back at him and shrugged stiffly. “Must be something in the fruit.”

 

Of course, after her strange behaviour, James now watched her more than ever, only briefly tearing his eyes away to scan the crowds.

 

“Excuse me,” the voice came from the side of Natasha, catching her attention away from the same gloves she’d been fingering for the past ten minutes.  Her head tipped upwards, then further upwards, staring at the blond giant in front of her.  He was enormous, clad in a deep navy suit with red accents, silver buttons showing his status as a man of wealth, and as with her other watcher this man seemed to know her though she was certain they’d never met.  She’d remember a man like this.  He’d make an excellent mark, handsome enough that she might actually enjoy the encounter before taking everything from him.  “Are you Natasha Romanov?”

 

Her mouth went dry, all thoughts of treating him as a target disappearing.  Who did he think he was, simply addressing her in that way?  Didn’t he know a damn thing about manners and how to address a lady?  

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, placing the gloves back down on the stall to extracate herself from the situation.  The waver in her voice caught James’ attention, but the man in front of her had eyes only for Natasha.  “I don’t believe I know you.”

 

“You do--Natasha, it’s me.  Thor.”  He reached forward, trying to take one of her hands in his own, and she pulled away with wide eyes.  What in the hell was he doing!?  

 

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else, sir,” she said, swallowing rapidly as James took a stride closer to the man.  The top of his head just made it to the man’s cheekbones, and Nat heard the familiar whir of his mechanical arm tensing up.  She stepped further backwards, heart racing as the man’s gaze continued to follow her, even as James told him to back off, that he wasn’t wanted and he obviously had the wrong person.  

 

“You need to leave us alone, Thor,” James threatened, metal hand already moving for the gun Natasha had watched him strap to his side before they’d left, never one to be above taking extra precautions.  She was glad he did, also glad that she had her own if she needed to get to it, stowed in her black and red clutch in her hands.  Her fingers tightened all the more as Thor’s brow creased, confusion marring his blue eyes.  “You’re already attracting too much attention.  Run back to your wife before word gets out that you’ve left her.”

 

“I’m not married,” Thor said with a growl, staring down at James with a hard, calculating eye, that soon lightened, as though he recognized him as well.  “Bucky?”

 

Natasha actually gasped.  How had this man known that?  There was no explanation for him knowing the name, hell not even Natasha had earned the right to know about it until they were settled in away from Russia and in the safety of their new home.  James’ body went rigid, the color draining from his face before he cocked his metal arm back and swung at Thor’s jaw.  Natasha heard it crack beneath the weight of James’ arm, and she scurried away to avoid the commotion that broke out.  James would find their carriage soon as he was done, she knew, but she needed to get out of there and regroup.  Had to think, to try and piece it all together because nothing was making any sense any more.  

 

All the while the same green eyes that she’d been so focused on before followed her away, watched as the crowds parted for her, the police running to break up the fight between James and Thor, watched as she held her arms tight around herself and muttered prayers half in Russian half in English once she was safely tucked away in her carriage.

 

\--

 

It was strange to admit that Loki was nervous and excited to see Anthony Stark once more.  They’d been rivals in their other life, hated one another yet had been little more than mirror images of the other, so what would that make them in this new start Loki had carved out for himself?  And it wasn’t just Stark who he had on his mind.  The sighting of the once Russian spy in the marketplace earlier that day had been a surprise, one that had nearly gotten too much attention drawn to him. He’d have to be far more careful next time.  Had it not been for Thor he might not have gotten away so easily.  The oaf was useful in some cases, he supposed.  Still, that Natasha was there, and doing obviously well for herself, led him to wonder if she perhaps hadn’t given up all of her old ways, if there were some parts of her history and her upbringing that were more than just circumstantial but part of her very being.  If Rogers had carried over his military discipline, and Stark had done to the same with his philandering personality (if Pepper was to be believed) then he could only assume Natasha would have done the same.  Curious.  Perhaps she wasn’t so reformable as she liked to believe, and where there was the even slightest possibility of corruption he would find it, and exploit it for all it was worth.  She could be of use to him in the long run, and besides the image of her bent in front of him, face screwed up with pleasure she couldn’t deny or hide from, had kept him company many a night.  He’d loathe to miss an opportunity to make it so.  

 

If he kept thinking like that, however, he’d have to meet with one of the girls he employed to get his frustrations out of his system, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus like that.  Not then, not when he was waiting for Stark and Virginia to finish up.  Honestly, she’d promised her sessions didn’t last all that long--.  

 

A knock at the door of his study jolted him out of his head, and none too soon.  

 

“What’d you say was going on, Pep?”

 

“Loki simply wants a word with you, is all.  Nothing big,” she promised, Loki pausing before the door to try and overhear what they would say while thinking themselves alone.  

 

Stark gave a heavy sigh.  “Looking for an investment?”

 

“I don’t think so.  He’s looking for something, but . . . he doesn’t need money.  He’s made that clear.  Maybe he just wants to ensure you’re happy.”

 

“Course I’m happy,” Tony snorted.  “That--what he had set up the other night?  That was incredible.”  He spared a chuckle.  “You must’ve told him a lot about me, huh Pep?  Like him enough to get him off to a good start with the biggest patron?”

 

Silence.  Loki’s body stiffened with the tension of it.

 

“Wait, you really didn’t say anything to him?”  Stark asked.  Pepper must’ve shaken her head.  

 

“Very little.  Never anything like that--I didn’t even know--.”

 

“Well sometimes you know things before I do.  If the world was a fairer place I’d have you working for me, with me, on all my business ventures--.”

 

“Tony.”  Loki had heard that tone of voice before.  “Focus.”  

 

“Right.  Still, he guessed all that?”

 

Loki took the opportunity to make his presence known, shuffling just loud enough to garner their attention before opening the door and smiling as he ushered them inside. The room he’d taken to be his study was bare, minimum in decoration save a vase of white flowers he’d taken a liking to after one of the women had brought them in to help make the place smell fresh.  Now she brought them to him every day.  Tony took one of the offered seats before Pepper saw her way out, excusing herself and ignoring Tony’s less than thrilled glance her way that his savior was abandoning him.  Loki did everything he could not to snort.  Where was the lionheart he once knew Stark to possess?  

 

“I take it everything went favorably enough, Mr. Stark?”  Loki asked, smiling kindly as he took his own seat behind his desk.  

 

“Yes, of course.  No complaints,” Tony assured him with a nod, looking to stand up quickly.  What was he so afraid of, Loki wondered.  

 

“Excellent.  And the additions--.”

 

“Were not unwelcome, I can assure you.”  Stark finished, waving his hand, his eyes never meeting Loki’s.  “Pepper loved them.”

 

“They were not meant for her.”

 

“Well she did.”  Tony huffed.  

 

“From what I understand, Ms. Potts’ proclivities seem to warrant attention from the opposite gender of that which I provided.  Am I to believe that she has suddenly changed?”

 

Tony went very still, eyes going steely as the metal he used to surround himself in.  Loki stifled a smirk of amusement as he watched the man before him endeavour to conceal his discomfort. This was very different from their first few encounters, although Loki had thrown Stark out of a window at some point, Stark had always had some cocky air about him, as though he knew he had control. Not this time.

 

Loki softened, albeit reluctantly, for he was enjoying taunting Stark all too much, but he knew he needed to be at least respected by him for any of his plans to work.

 

“Is there something you wanted, sir?” Stark questioned, clearing his throat as he regained at least some of his control in the situation. He stood, brushing down his jacket and straightening his tie as if to leave.

 

“You seem like a very respectable man, Mr Stark.” Loki mused, he gestured with one of his hands for his guest to sit back down, which did prove difficult, but Loki had always known Stark to be stubborn. “No doubt you know, and are known by, many of those residing in the better parts of London.”

 

Stark stiffened all the more, watching Loki with caution. “That’s true.”

 

“Have you ever come into contact with a woman known as Natasha Romanov?”  Loki asked, not bothering to beat around the bush.  He watched as the creases around Tony’s eyes tightened, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considered Loki’s words, posture saying infinitely more.  They weren’t close, but he knew her.  Perhaps they’d even had dealings with one another.  

 

“I’ve heard of her.  We have friends in common.”

 

“Excellent.  And from what I understand you are holding a gala in a few days time, is that correct?”

 

Now Tony could see where this was going.  His shoulders straightened as his arms dropped to his sides.  “What do you want with Ms. Romanov?  She just lost her husband--.”

 

Good.  

 

“The last thing she needs is for more trouble in her life.  I won’t let you harm her through me.”

 

Ah, there was that bravery Stark had once demonstrated, the same Loki had seen as he’d been challenged just before the Chitauri invasion.  Curious that he still had no sense of self preservation, yet when it came to those he knew--even if he wasn’t as close to this incarnation of Natasha as he had been before--he was willing to make sacrifices for them.  As it was, however, Loki had no intention of harming Natasha.  Not unless she asked him to.

 

“You can relax, Mr. Stark.  My business with her is not of the painful or negative sort.  I simply have heard many a good thing about her and wish to confirm or deny the portrayal for myself.”  He lied smoothly, running a hand over the pinstriped suit he’d picked up earlier that day.  “I was under the guise that you would be able to help me meet her should I be permitted to attend your gala.”

 

And there it was, his deal lying out for Stark to either accept or deny.  Just how much could he risk losing, Loki wondered.  How much could he stand to gamble?  If Loki ever did come public with the knowledge of Tony’s inclinations--well, even if they were displaced as rumors, started by a man who ran a whore house, from what Loki had gleaned about this society one’s reputation was everything.  

 

“I’ll not ask for another favor regarding her past this,” Loki assured him.  “As I said: secrets are safe here.”

 

“So long as you’re kept happy.”

 

“I assure you, my happiness is beneficial to us all,” Loki offered him a crooked smile.  He’d always wondered what sort of lover Stark might be, Loki’s curiosity more often than not more dangerous than his actual will to act on it.  Perhaps he would find out, though, and then he’d really hold the man in his pocket.  

 

Stark let his eyes wander over Loki, taking him in for the first time with a look of uncertainty and… what was that? Interest. Loki chuckled lightly and stood, pretending to ignore  the way Tony drew his eyes away sharply. Very different indeed.

 

“Was that all, sir?” Tony asked, seemingly desperate to escape.

 

Understandable, Loki always knew his presence was a little disconcerting to some, perhaps he had just assumed that the famous Iron Man would have a little more stamina. But in this world, this era that even Loki could not properly comprehend, and without his iron suit to protect him, Stark had proved to be somewhat of a disappointment. Not to say he wasn’t useful, no, the man had proved to be very useful indeed, and if everything proved successful at his gala, Loki would have to find a way to thank him.

 

“I suppose.” Loki stepped toward him and offered his hand. Stark reached to accept it, looking rather relieved to be leaving, before Loki hastily snatched his hand away and pressed his index finger to his lips thoughtfully. “Unless you wish to make any requests for your next visit?”

 

“No . . . thank you very much.” Tony tensed again, recognising the mischief in Loki’s eyes. “The usual is just fine.”

 

Loki grinned charmingly and shook his hand. “Well, if you’re sure. I shall see you at the gala, Mr Stark.”

 

Tony slipped his hand from Loki’s tight grasp and forcing a smile out of courtesy as he made to leave the room. “I’ll see you then.” He called, dropping his smile once his back was turned.

 

“I’m always open to requests.” Loki called after him with a smirk. “No matter how scandalous they may be.”

  
He heard the front door slam shut and his vase of flowers shook beside him from the impact. In the distance he heard a few girls muttering in shock, to which he merely laughed. It was all coming together now, and soon enough Natasha Romanov would be safely secured under his thumb . . .  or maybe just under him. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with the story and hope you continue to enjoy it as much as we're enjoying writing it!

The incident at the market only made James’ nerves about Natasha’s wellbeing all the worse, and he was becoming near insufferable when it came to keeping her safe.  Not that she didn’t appreciate it, because she couldn’t think of anyone else who would deal with something as seriously as he did the invasion of privacy the man named Thor had imposed on them, but honestly?  He was beginning to go a little insane with the safety precautions he’d begun to take, and Nat wasn’t coping as well as he’d hoped she would.  She’d done everything she could to get out of the Red Room, whose restrictions were ridiculous and taxing, taking all of her autonomy, and now James sought to put her under lock and key just as Ivan had.  She wasn’t standing for it.  

 

“James, I’m fine,” she insisted, growing weary now of his attentions as he sat in front of her, his eyes fixed hard on hers, one of her hands pressing against the seam of his skin with the metal of his arm, applying the slightest of pressures to give him the hint that she needed air, she needed space.  She hadn’t gotten it since then, and while his attentions were flattering, she supposed, it wasn’t what she wanted.  

 

“No you’re not,” he countered, raising his hand to find hers and squeezing it.  “I can see it in your face, you’re exhausted.  We’ve been doing this for too long, we ought to relocate or something.”

 

Relocate?  Was he stupid?  “And go where, James?”  She asked, leaning backwards on her hands, the plush mattress beneath her a comfort.  

 

“I don’t know.” He sighed and shook his head. “Paris? Or somewhere quieter? Somewhere where no one knows us, where we could start over.”

 

“And lose everything we’ve worked so hard to build?” She stared at him, her brow drawn in disbelief. Where was this coming from?

 

“We don’t need this anymore.” James gestured around where they sat in her bedroom, on a large canopy bed, laden with luxurious silks and embellishments. “We could leave, go somewhere and just… live.”

 

“We’re not going anywhere.” She replied bluntly, as far as she was concerned the conversation was over. Maybe James just needed a drink, some fresh air, something to make him start speaking sense again.

 

What they did, it wasn’t moral, she knew that, and she thrived off it. The anticipation as she eyed her next target, prowled around him, before she pounced. And then the feeling of danger, the rush of adrenaline when they ran from some wealthy estate, hands clutching as many jewels as they could carry. What James wanted was to retire, and there was no way that was going to happen. Even if his words only arose from his own worry for her safety, just proposing the idea made her anxious. She didn’t want him going soft.

 

“Natasha--.”

 

“No, James.  We aren’t going anywhere.”  She repeated.  What didn’t he understand about what she’d said?  “I like it here.  We have a good thing going for us, and dammit James, if you want to leave then fine.  I’m not going to, though.  No.”  She sounded childish, she knew, and with her arms folded over her chest she was certain she looked it, too, but what the hell was he thinking?  Leave?  After they’d worked so hard to get where they were?  No.  No.  It wasn’t happening.  He opened his mouth to counter when she shook her head and turned away from him.  The conversation was over as far as she was concerned, and moved back towards the bedroom.  She needed to look over her outfit for the evening, for Stark’s event that she’d sworn the weapons designer she’d go to.  Not that she minded.  A flirt he might’ve been, but at least he was an understanding, honest one.  One she could read, one she didn’t have to worry about talking to about leaving and other preposterous ideas.  One who didn’t let his feelings get in the way of what was actually best.  

 

She heard James’ heavy footsteps as he followed her slowly. She turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms folded, and a disapproving look on his face. “Are you sure you should go tonight?”

 

Natasha scoffed and turned back to her dresses. Really? He hadn’t taken the hint? “Of course I’m going.” She returned sourly as she held out a red silk dress in front of her. Was it too early to go back to dressing in colour? “I made a promise.”

 

“I just think that after what happened--.”

 

“You really think that after that stupid little scuffle you had with that stranger is going to change anything?” She asked, dropping the dress to the ground angrily. Maybe he was going soft after all. “This is what we do, James. It’s what we’ve always done. So I am going to attend Stark’s little event tonight, whether you go or not. So you can either suit up and find me my next target, or I’ll have to do it myself.”

 

James said nothing after that, skulking back to his own room. She hoped it was to go get dressed, because despite the current animosity between them, she would have liked to have her partner by her side for the evening. The market had shaken her up, she couldn’t deny that, first the constant eyes watching her, then the intrusion of some stranger who claimed to know her. Her name really was getting around, but that would never make her flee from London. She had made a name for herself here, she had built her life from the ground up, why would she run from that?

 

Besides, where else was there to go?  Honestly.  The  only reason they had sanctuary in London was because Alexei had gone with them, and Ivan still thought he lived and kept Natasha in check.  James had gotten very good at forging his handwriting, bless him, and while they sent out monthly reports, forging details as though Alexei was keeping it secret from Natasha and James about his true motives, he left them alone.  If they moved then their guarantee was gone.  Ivan would come looking for them, wanting to know why they’d moved, would discover that Alexei was dead, and they’d never be able to settle down again.  

 

Throwing whatever cares she might’ve had about her mourning period to the side, she picked up the scarlet dress again and pressed it against her body.  It would accentuate the very best of her, and she smirked to think of what the ninnys would say when they got a good look at her in it.  Let them talk.  Between herself and Stark it was more than likely they’d be given enough gossip fodder to last them weeks.  

 

James, as it turned out, followed her after all, too nervous for her to go on her own to refuse.  She took his hand in hers and squeezed, grateful.  At least that was behind them, she hoped.  She was sick of arguing with him.  

 

He was quiet for the entire journey there, staring out of the window at nothing in particular, averting her gaze entirely. Still, at least he wasn’t stubborn enough to make her go alone. She didn’t force conversation, looking out of her own window instead and watching the streets pass by. Despite the dirt, the stink in some areas, the poison of the ever growing industries that clogged the air, London was her home and nothing could draw her away from it.  She just wished that she could communicate that to James in some way. She shook the thought from her mind, it wasn’t something to think about at that time, Natasha had bigger things to dwell over. She supposed, due to the fact that he was sitting beside her on the way to the event, that James had some plan for the evening. She’d seen him glancing around in the market, noticed the way his eyes swept over some of the wealthier shoppers, no doubt a number of them would be attending.

 

Stark was one of the biggest names around the better parts of London, and even some of the poorer inhabitants had heard of him, though she doubted they knew too much about his business. He was one of Britain's major weapons manufacturers, stolen from America after treaties had gone sour between England and the new country, and often commissioned by the army to supply the best ammunition for their soldiers, so business was always at it’s best, keeping him firmly in place as one of the richest men in London. She’d tried him as a target once, and she and James had been certain that he’d be their best job, for what rich, flirtatious, somewhat alcoholic, man wouldn’t try for Natasha, especially when she batted her lashes and wore her best dress?

 

Well, not Stark apparently. He had flirted with her, playful with hands that didn’t know where to put themselves, but she could see right through him. It was all an act, yet everyone else was oblivious. Natasha had let him alone after that, but James, curious as he was, would return to her with stories of seeing Stark in deep, private conversations with a blonde man. She had merely remarked that he was as bad as the gossiping ladies.  It was still kind of him to invite her to his event, Stark knowing all too well that she wouldn’t be donating anything.  Perhaps he’d been genuine when he told her that her presence was treat enough, though she doubted it.  More likely it would be seen as a faux pas if he didn’t invite her, and for a man whose company was still, for the most part, public needed all the assistance he could get when he had a reputation that preceded him.  

 

As ever, his home was thrumming with the energy that all of his parties warranted.  Not only where they lavish events, the walls all but dripping with luscious crimsons and gold hangings, everything decked out in the same, signature colors, but it was always a technology extravaganza.  Stark liked to show off, to gloat at what he’d created and how it was better than anything else on the market.  She’d caught Justin Hammer, one of his biggest rivals in the field, ogling many an invention by Stark and muttering to himself how he could replicate it though he never succeeded.  For all his ego and all his flaws, Stark certainly had a way with technology.

 

An enormous suit stood out in the middle of the entrance hall once Natasha and James stepped inside, looking almost like a suit of armor from a time long past, though the edges of this were slicker, rounded, the eyeholes were slits, and near the center housed a large hole.  

 

“Hell of a work of art, Stark,” James muttered as he eyed the bronze creation, tipping his head to the side and reaching out his normal arm to feel the metal beneath his fingertips.  He frowned, murmuring how thin it was and yet structurally sound.  “Perhaps I’ll take him up on his offer to fix up my arm.”  

 

Natasha smiled at that and leaned over to squeeze his metallic fingers.  “He would love that,” she assured him.  Anything that would give him the excuse to tinker.  She released his hand before anyone could see or make anything else of it, and the pair made their way to the ballroom, music already filtering through the vast corridors and other near empty rooms guiding them there.  At least a hundred guests or so had already entered, milling around and looking at what else Stark had to offer them as far as intrigues.  New weapons cast in bronze and gold stood on small platforms, glass cases keeping the onlookers from getting too familiar with it.  They promised to be lighter than ever, to hold more ammunition.  They would win the war, Stark could be heard bragging to a tall, bald gentleman.  Obie, the once head of the board that tried to keep Tony in check, was side eyeing him, fingers twitching at his side to try and get his hands on them.  Nat’s gag reflex rose.  She’d spent an evening with the tall man in order to extract the money in his wallet and bank account, and he’d been unforgiving when she promised him that if he said a thing she’d release just how she came into that money, her own reputation be damned.  

 

As it was the family of his recently deceased wife that kept making very generous donations to Stark’s business, he wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.  She still didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, and though she was stronger than she might’ve looked it didn’t mean she would give him the slightest of opportunities to make good on his many colorful threats.  

 

James, too, was on the defensive upon seeing Obie, but at Natasha’s insisting he made to take a turn about the room, to see who would be the easiest of targets and report back to Natasha.  Tonight, of all nights, ought to have been the easiest.  Save Stark, she wasn’t aware of any man who’d be able to resist her after the way she’d dolled herself up that evening.  Already the rumors had started, but it wasn’t that that gave her pause.  The skin on the back of her neck prickled, and slowly, moving as though she’d caught sight of the latest engine Stark had been working on and was planning on checking it out, took a quick glance around the room.  Bright green eyes, familiar and haunting, caught her attention in an instant, framed by dark black lashes and a slash of a smirk on the man’s lips.  Her heart jolted as she recognized him from earlier, and she swallowed back a cry to James.  No.  No, she could handle this herself, especially seeing as she didn’t need any gloating from James, telling her that he knew something like this was going to happen all along.  Stray looks weren’t something she was unfamiliar with, and so long as the blonde, hulking man from earlier didn’t make an appearance she didn’t see what there was to be afraid of.  If he wanted to look then he very well could.  Lord knew everyone else was.  

 

\--

 

He had told himself that he would wait a while before moving in on his plan, hold back until just the right moment, but how could he when she looked as she did? Draped in the finest crimson fabrics, her lips painted an exquisite shade of blood red, fiery curls framing her face with bouncing ringlets. This era seemed to suit her he mused, stepping closer, his legs moving as if by their own accord, through the crowds of guests, eyeing her as he went, gods she looked perfect. His smirk only widened when she glanced back at him, recognition flittering across her expression. A small jolt of fear shot through him, the suspicion that she was close enough to his spell that she too could recognise him from their former universe, but the fear soon faded as she glanced back at him wearily. She knew him only from the market, that he could see in the intrigue that burned in her eyes, like in invitation for him to pursue her further.

He watched her move closer to Stark once the bald man had left and hung back a little while later, curious as to what she’d be saying.  When he saw her companion rejoin the both of them he gritted his teeth.  Bucky Barnes was becoming more of a hassle than Loki thought necessary, and considered the best way to get him isolated and away from Natasha.  The sooner he could get her alone the better.  He hid himself from her view, finding himself in conversation with a portly woman who was fanning herself and giving him a look that suggested she was more interested in devouring him than the food Stark had set out.  Still he put on the charm, gently insinuating he was curious about the lady in the crimson gown.  The woman was less than discreet in the way she rolled her eyes.  

 

“That tramp.  Why anyone invites her to these sort of fancy parties is beyond me,” the woman huffed, taking a sip of her champagne.  “Propriety, I suppose.  Pity, and out of respect to her late husband.  But she’s a--a.”  Her face went red with the indignation of it.  “I do not approve of using such words but she is a lady of the night, my good sir.  Any respectable company keeps from speaking with her.  Certainly she puts on a good show of being a proper lady, but just look at her.”  She gestured, and oh, Loki was.  Natasha had moved to speak with another gentleman, this one far too old for her, though she was acting as though there was nothing more fascinating than his stories.  

 

She might’ve even gotten away with it had he not noticed the flicker of disinterest, of her anxiousness to get through this conversation, cross her face.  He did not miss the slight flicker of her gaze, searching the crowds momentarily, searching for something, and Loki had a good feeling it was him. The lady he stood beside endeavoured to draw out their conversation, she began admiring the machines that were placed around the ballroom on large plinths for guests to appreciate. Loki found himself only half listening, his attention returning to the lady only when she placed a meaty hand on his forearm, laughing about something that he was sure wasn't particularly amusing in the first place.

 

A number of guests that had previously obscured him from Natasha’s view shifted slightly, and it did not take long for Natasha to find him once more, her interest noticeably piqued from having found him, though Loki only saw this in his peripheral vision, not allowing himself to lock eyes with her just yet. Let her wonder, let her wait in anticipation for him to approach her. This method only proved to pain himself more than anything.  He had waited long enough after all, and he had never been a very patient man. The portly woman laughed and babbled on about the event, her glass of wine sloshing as she amused herself with her own jokes, to the point where Loki couldn’t take it any longer. He excused himself politely, managing to extract himself from the lady’s grasp, her sweaty palms having left the arm of his expensive black suit crinkled and somewhat moist. He tried to hide his disgust as he parted from her, subtly smoothing down his clothes as if just being around her had left him dirty. They way she had spoken of Natasha, amusing as it had been, had left him somewhat irked. She had spoken with such disapproval, such hostility.  Though it was clear it that the core of her acrimony was merely jealousy, he was certain that most women would be jealous of her, and the men were surely desirous towards her, Loki eyeing James with uncertainty whenever he stepped closer to her side.

 

Loki circled the room again, his patience wearing thin, yet Bucky still stood close by Natasha’s side as she nodded along with whatever this bald man was saying. Her body language was clear and she moved close to the man as he spoke, her chest pressed closer towards him, a move that took effect instantly.  The man’s attention shot straight to her breasts as he stammered out the rest of his sentence, so much so that she hardly needed to worry about the expression of disinterest plastered clearly across her expression. Her eyes scanned the crowds again, a subtle move, yet Loki could see the eagerness in her eyes to find what she was looking for.  He kept himself hidden, there was not much to be done whilst Bucky kept her under his stern watch. So he resigned to admire her from afar, his patience waning, and a plan forming in his mind.

 

The loud, expressive shouts from Tony Stark sounded from just behind him. Loki turned to see the man gesturing proudly at another large bronze suit presented behind a glass cage, there’s a number of them scattered about the place.  Apparently no matter what era Stark was placed in, in Iron Man would always follow. Loki smirked, turning his attention away from Natasha momentarily to work his scheme. He approached Stark from behind, patting him on the back in a friendly manner to get his attention.

 

“Mr Stark!” Loki exclaimed, an affable grin stretching his lips. “I am greatly impressed by some of your inventions, I never knew you had such talent.”

 

Tony picked up on the false friendliness in a heartbeat.  His jaw tightened and his eyes widened very slightly in a reaction of fear. Understandably he didn’t seem to want anyone asking just how exactly Loki and he were acquainted, yet he played along.

 

“Ah, Loki, I’m glad you came.” The sarcasm in his statement was blatant, Loki couldn’t help but snigger, making it it seem like nothing but a friendly exchange.

 

“I am glad for the invitation! And such wonderful guests.” The charade made him inwardly cringe, but he knew it had to be done. “As a matter of fact I was just admiring that guest over there, his arm is quite impressive, it is not a piece of your own work is it?”

 

Stark’s gaze followed to where Loki pointed at Bucky, his fake smile faltered as he looked from Bucky to Natasha and realised what Loki was getting to. “Uh, no, unfortunately that’s not mine, impressive as it is.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was terribly impressive, there’s always room for improvement, is there not?” Stark’s lips curled a little at Loki’s comment, clearly he had thought the same thing. Loki hid a triumphant smile at how well he knew just what to say.

 

“Just what I always think.” Stark returned, he sipped at his glass of whiskey, eyeing Bucky’s arm over the rim of the glass. “The guy won't let me near it.”

 

“That doesn’t seem quite fair. You allow him to your events, present him with such hospitality.”

 

“I know what you’re trying to get me to do.” Stark cut in sharply and shook his head. “They guys a brick wall, he’s too defensive.”

 

“Maybe with a bit of persuasion.” Loki countered. “He’s seen these machines of yours, all of them very impressive. Surely that’s more than enough of an example for what you can do for him.”

 

Stark looked at Loki hesitantly and sighed, placing his glass of whiskey in the god’s hands before he stepped away, moving through the crowds towards where Bucky stood surveying the area. Loki watched, his lips twisting into a smirk as he saw Stark engage Bucky in conversation, gesturing to his arm excitedly.  At least Loki was forcing Stark to do something that he actually wanted to do, he just needed that little push and a pinch of bribery. Already Stark was leading Bucky towards one of his machines as an example of what he was capable of, and Loki steadily turned his attention to Natasha.  Now that he was in plain sight she was looking back at him, barely paying attention to what the bald man was saying. It was the perfect time for him to make his move, Bucky was out of the picture.  She noticed it as well, and though she didn’t turn away from him the creases around her eyes grew deeper with her concern.

 

Very well, if she wasn’t going to make the first move then he would.  He still had the faintest of twinges of magic, and exhausting a small bit of it to distract the older man would be no large feat of strength.  It hardly took a flick of his wrist and the man was turning his head, stepping away from Natasha after excusing himself, leaving her vulnerable.  

 

That idea was laughable, he thought, even as he rounded on her.  In this world, or the next, or the one after that, in no way would Natasha Romanov ever be vulnerable.  Even then she was turning her body, ever the pursued, leaving to examine the nearest contraption that Stark had set up, something resembling that of a short, circuited human.  Nothing like the Iron Man machine, this was called Jarvis.  Lovingly after his butler who’d undoubtedly wiped his ass growing up, Loki assumed.  He stole a chalice of the champagne being offered to him by one of the waiters, then a second for Natasha after a moment’s reconsidering.  With her back to him he took his time winding up towards her, watching the way that her head tipped to the side, as if she were trying to get a look at the creation from a better angle, when he knew she was simply checking out of the corner of her eye whether or not he was coming.  

 

He hadn’t anticipated her to spin around just a moment before he would’ve stood behind her.  Her eyes widened, false surprise forcing her mouth to open.  

 

“Apologies, sir,” she stammered, her cheeks staining red though she knew exactly what it was she was doing.  Her curiosity was getting the better of her if she was calling him out on his game this quickly, her eagerness to learn about him showing in the lines on her face and the flash in her eyes.  

 

“There is nothing to apologize for, madam,” he said, voice as silky as ever, offering her a glass.  “In fact you saved me the trouble of catching your attention myself.”  

 

Her fingers clasped the glass perhaps a little too tightly, the knuckles on her hand whitening as she watched him bring his own to his lips.

 

“You flatter me sir, but you have me at a disadvantage,” she said, not touching her own drink.  Wary, even in this world.  Smart.  “You claim my attention for yourself yet I have never seen you before, am unaware of even your name, sir.”  

 

“Forgive me.” Loki dipped his head and smiled, coating on the charm for her. “My name is Loki Latherson”

 

He took her hand and bowed to press a light kiss to her soft skin, eyeing her beneath his lashes as he did so. He found her watching him curiously as he stood back up, and he hand quickly slipped from his back to her side. He smirked, sensing the attention of passing guests and the concern that seemed to radiate off of Natasha. Perhaps going to kiss her hand was not the most socially adequate thing to do, no matter, interest seemed to burn in her eyes all the more.

 

“You are very forward.” She commented with a small frown pucking her brows. She hesitantly placed her glass in her left hand and offered her right to greet him. “Natasha Romanov.”

 

Hearing the name from her low, husky voice elicited an involuntary smile to stretch his lips as he shook her hand, relishing in the feel of her touch. Finally, they were getting somewhere.  

 

“A pleasure, Natasha.” Loki chanced a small glance around the room to ensure that guard of hers was a good distance away. Stark had his arm around his shoulders, pulling him to another of his inventions with an enthusiasm that made Loki consider letting his next visit to Pepper free of charge… or maybe just half price.

 

“How is it you know the host?”  Natasha asked him, her head tipping to the side, curls sliding to frame her face.  “I have known Stark for many years and I do not believe I’ve ever seen you here, or at any of his other galas, before.  It must be a fascinating tale.”  

 

As clever as ever, damn her.  No matter.  Polishing off the glass given to him, Loki placed it on an empty tray of a waiter coming back around and offered her his hand.  “Dance with me and I will unveil for you the riveting story.”  He couldn’t help but grin.  It all felt so easy, too easy almost.  When she took his hand he could feel her pulse quicken, could see the color making its way into her cheeks after she, too, downed her drink in one fluid gulp that brought his attention to the smooth column of her throat.  He led her away from Bucky, away from Stark, and the prying eyes of the same portly woman who’d warned him to stay away from her.  One of his hands slipped around her waist to hold her perhaps a little tighter, a little closer, than strictly necessary or proper, while his other hand threaded her fingers with his.  Her breath was coming in short gasps by the time they started dancing, and her eyes were glazed with curiosity and intrigue.  When was the last time she’d been treated so, he wondered?  

 

As promised, while he whirled her around to the dance after picking up the jist of it with ease, he explained that he and Stark had not quite liked one another at their first meeting, which would explain why she’d never saw him.  “As time went on we grew to have an understanding of one another.  We became business partners of a sort,” he supplied, spinning her around before pulling her tight against him.  His fingertips squeezed her hip gently, and felt something metal and hard underneath it, far too wide to be a corset bone.  

 

How curious.  She pulled away, forcing him to loosen his grip, before settling back into the dance with ease.  “Of a sort, that’s a curious phrase.  Are you in the weapons business as well?”

 

“I deal in another sort of weapon, not one easily manufactured or made ready, and far more intimate.  I feel they make the better investment.”

 

“Do you?”  She arched a brow, thinly veiled curiosity piquing.  

 

“I do.  I’d be happy to show you some time if you would like.”  

 

There, he had her.  Her pupils dilated with the unspoken opportunity of learning one of his secrets, even as she teased him about propositioning her so soon after they’d met.  “What will the socialites and spinsters say?”  She murmured as he leaned in to press an unorthodox kiss to her cheek.  

 

“I’ve never much cared about the opinions of others, only what they want.  What they need.  People will say a great deal of things to hide their true desires.”  He purred, breath warm on her ear.  He felt her shiver beneath him.  “Tell me, Ms. Romanov.  What do you desire?”

 

She was barely breathing when she pulled away, slipping her hand from his as the music came to a crescendo and ended.  “You’ll simply have to find out.  Thank you for the dance, Mr. Latherson.  It was quite the diversion.”  

 

He hated the smile that passed her lips, recognizing it from what felt like a lifetime ago, mirrored back at him from the other side of his cell, right before everything he’d planned for went to Hel.  He tried reaching out for her, only to watch her slip away and make her way with ridiculous ease towards where Bucky and Stark had congregated.  Only when she flicked her gaze back to him, lips still curved upwards and eyes bright, did he realize what sort of game he’d been roped into.  Curious that no matter how he tried to trap her she managed to get the upper hand.  

  
Perhaps this time he would let her reel him in, bring him back to her, and see where it went from there.   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay between chapters, but we hope you're enjoying this so far and continue to! Thanks for reading!

She kept away from Loki for the rest of the evening, promising herself that she could do it.  There was not a single man so interesting as to make her forget about herself, or what she had set her mind on.  James had been grudging enough to find her a target, and she was going to act on it, going to secure them further because if she didn’t then no one would.  There were no handouts for a woman of ill repute and her lover.  

 

And if she thought of Loki as the older man ran his hands down her breasts and licked and bit at her throat, well, that was between her and whatever God existed and watched over her.  She was sure it wasn’t the most shocking thing she’d ever done.  

 

The target’s billfold significantly lighter, and her pockets feeling far more full than before, she excused herself to find James and remove themselves from the situation.  He was eyeing Loki from across the room, his gaze distrustful enough to tell her that he’d caught onto what she and the man had been talking about before, but that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to move in on the situation.  James was a sniper, he always had been, waiting until the time was right, until the information provided was conclusive enough to form at least three different tactical responses to each likely situation.  It made him invaluable as a partner to work with, always able to adapt and shift with whatever issues might’ve come up.  

 

It also fueled his fighting nature, so accustomed to competing and struggling for everything he wanted to keep that he was near impossible to keep from a fight when he put his mind to it.  

 

As she returned to him she shot him one of her rarer smiles, a genuine, pleased to see him grin that told him she was ready to go after having accomplished her goal.  She didn’t have to do much more than that and prepare to leave, making her excuses to Stark before heading towards the exit.  She didn’t have to look back at James to know that he was on his way very shortly towards her, nor back at Loki to know that he was watching her leave.  

 

“Who was he?”

 

She knew the question was coming from the way he’d placed his hand atop hers, metal fingers twining with hers, giving just enough pressure to let her know that he cared about the answer.  

 

“A friend of Mr. Stark’s,” she said, rather offhandedly.  It wasn’t the answer he wanted, his body going far more tense at her side.  She’d had an opportunity to come clean, but truth was she didn’t know much more about him.  She’d be lying if she said it didn’t both interest and terrify her at the same time.  “He wouldn’t tell me much more.  What, didn’t you find anything about him?”

 

“Nothing.”  James griped, jaw tremoring as it clenched and he turned his gaze out the window.  “He might has well have materialized from the pages of a novel the way he popped out of nowhere.  No one can be that unknown and still manage an invitation to one of Stark’s parties.  Hell, it took some time for us to even get invited, and your reputation precedes the both of us.”

 

She playfully punched his leg, smiling in spite of the accuracy of his words.  “Well, he’s obviously wealthy enough.  Stark won’t associate with you unless you are.”

 

“Or he’s a dandy.  Could be useless, penniless and living off of his parents good fortune and name for all we know.”

 

“We would’ve heard about that if that was the case.  He’d have been surrounded by more sycophantic women if he was.  They can sniff a bachelor with wealthy parents out a mile away.”  Natasha reminded him.  He’d been the victim of a few ploys before it became a well known gossip that he and Natasha were somewhat attached.  

 

James sighed and slumped back into his seat, turning his head so that he could gaze out of the window at the darkened streets. “I didn’t like him.” He muttered petulantly.

 

“You didn’t even speak with him.” She replied, smoothing out the creases in her dress and making a mental note to call for a bath to be drawn the moment they returned.  The sooner she rid herself of any trace that the old man had left, the better.

 

“I don’t have to speak with someone to know that they’re suspicious.” She could hear the slight slur in his words, no doubt Stark had him pre-occupied with sufficient amounts of alcohol.

 

“Well I thought he was very charismatic.” Natasha recalled the memory of their brief meeting with a smirk. This stranger who appeared from nowhere had certainly left an impression, and she even found herself growing more and more curious about him by the second. James tensed again beside her in reaction to her praises, she let a hand rest on his knee, patting it reassuringly.

 

She knew James’ behaviour had little to do with Loki being so unfamiliar, no, James resented the man for catching Natasha’s interest so easily. He must have glanced over at her once or twice as she spoke with Loki, and there was every chance he witnessed the closeness between them, the flush in her cheeks as they danced, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. It wasn’t jealousy that caused James to pout so, as much as it was fear, fear that this stranger, Loki, would reel her in to a world where he could no longer keep an eye on her, make sure that she was ok. The thought of which made Natasha retract her hand from James’ knee and chew her lip.

 

They knew each other so well he was all but transparent to her, the way he frowned, watching the outside world contemptuously, he was so deep in thought about everything that had transpired at the gala, so caught up in ‘what if’s.’ The last thing he needed was to know that Loki had been at the market. It would only set him further on edge.  Natasha shifted in her seat, reaching out to catch his chin in her hand, tugging his gaze back onto her.  

 

“James, look at me.”  She ordered, voice soft but no less commanding.  It did the trick, his attention snapping onto her so sharply she could all but hear his bones shift into position.  “This isn’t going to affect you and I.  We work together.  Well.  I will not leave you.”  She squeezed his jaw, leaning forward to press her lips to his in a quick, promising kiss on the cheek.  He tipped his head to try and catch her lips but she pulled away far too soon for any further contact to be made.  

 

“Better,” she said with the smallest of smiles as their coach pulled up into their own estate’s drive.  “Now, I’m going to have a bath.  You’re going to come with me, and we’re both going to sit and enjoy the hot water and unwind.  Yes?”

 

He paused, half a moment behind, before he nodded.  “If you say so.”

 

“I do,” she insisted.  

 

As promised, neither of them spoke of it again, but it only took a couple days for Natasha to track Stark down in between one of his meetings and beg a private word with him.  They met at one of his favorite restaurants, the rumble of the lunch crowd giving them plenty of privacy to speak, and Natasha fully intended to use the time away from James to wheedle what she could out of Stark without having to worry about her friend’s reactions.  From there she’d share whatever she thought to be most pertinent.  Trust James though she did, this was different.  Personal, almost.  Perhaps she was imagining things.  

 

“So, you finally decided you couldn’t resist me any longer,” Stark said with a grin when he and Natasha had sat down and ordered their food.  He took scotch with most of his meals, and this one was no different, tipping the amber liquid back leisurely as Natasha offered a humble chuckle.  

 

“As I remember it you were the one who denied me, Mr. Stark,” she teased with a friendly wink, a nod to their friendship and the past they had.  When he had turned her down it hadn’t been a pretty sight, but she hoped he could believe that that was all in the past.  If he didn’t then she’d have a hell of a time convincing him to talk about Loki.  “There’s just one thing I’m rather curious about.  You had a certain gentleman at your gala the other evening, dark haired, green eyes.  Mr. Latherson, I believe was his name.”  

 

To anyone else the way Stark stiffened might’ve been explained away by a chill or his liquor finally seeping into his body, or even politely ignored as a way of allowing him to save face.  Natasha, however, catalogued it, curious at what it could’ve meant that he let it slip, and more than that he did everything he could to play it off by taking another sip of his liquor.  

 

“Yes, Loki.  He’s an interesting gentleman.”  

 

“Is he?”  She asked, her head tipping forward interestedly, a clear sign to go on.  That he didn’t was only all the more curious, bringing up James’ arm and the modifications he had in plan for it.  He was going to make it lighter, had figured out a way to better temper the metal so that it wouldn’t be hell on his balance any longer, could fit new cogs into it so that it worked faster.  Was stronger.  James would love it, she knew, and hoped Stark could make good on all his promises, but what the hell was he hiding from her?

 

“Tony,” she said, finally stopping his deluge of information about the mechanics of working on a prosthetic arm, most of which went right over her head.  Honestly, did he expect her to understand much of it?  It felt as though he was simply talking to talk, filling the space with information that would make no sense to her to distract her from her question.  She wasn’t so easily pulled off the scent.  He went still in front of her, brown eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite decipher.  Fear?  Anxiety?  What had this man done to make Tony this nervous?  “I just want to know what he’s like.  He’s intriguing.”  She reached out a hand towards his, found that there was a near imperceptible quake in his figure.  He’d really spooked Tony, and though that should have been a warning to her she, well, she wanted to know why to be frank.  “You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with.”  There must’ve been something bad that Loki had over Tony, and that would be investigated later.  For the moment Natasha wanted Tony to be comfortable enough to speak with her about this mysterious man.  

 

Her curiosity really would be the death of her.  

 

Tony pulled his hand away from hers in favor of taking a drink, waving the waiter over to get his glass refilled.  They sat in near perfect silence until he returned with more of the amber liquid, then after being waved away by Tony and thanked by Natasha disappeared.  

 

“It would figure that you would like him,” Tony said after he’d taken a swig.  “He’s an interesting bloke, as you said.  Suppose it’s that air of mystery you like?”

 

“There’s more than just that,” she defended.  

 

“Really?  Care to enlighten me?”  

 

“Only if you repay me in kind.”  

 

The twist of Tony’s lips was her only indication that he appreciated her cheek, one of the few people she could get away with using it on.  “Alright.  He’s driven, very motivated to accomplish what it is he wants.  To a fault, almost.”  The words looked as though they tasted bitter in his mouth by the way he tried to drown the taste out with his drink.  Their food arrived, silencing the pair until they were alone once more.  Natasha’s mind fired the words around.  Yes, she’d seen that much about him, the motivation he’d shown to get to her when she was alone, how little he’d cared about the conventions of the time, driven to do whatever it was he wanted.  Perhaps her question had been a throwaway one.  How disappointing.  

 

“What does he do for employment?”  She asked in between bites of her food.  

 

Tony choked, coughing into his napkin and holding one hand up to promise Natasha that he was fine when she made to rise, to try and help.  Was it that surprising of a question?  Perhaps James hadn’t been far off by assuming he was simply a dandy, and the more was a pity.  She’d have no actual reason to continue to pursue him other than her own curiosity, and that didn’t pay the bills.  

 

“Apologies,” Tony gasped, taking a deep gulp to finish clearing his throat.  “He’s ah, an unconventional business owner.”  

 

Natasha tried not to roll her eyes.  “Who somehow got to talking to you?  He can’t be in weapons he doesn’t have the eye for it.  The way he was discussing your inventions wasn’t that of someone with a military background.  So, what sort of business is it?”

 

“I’m afraid I’m going to keep my silence--.”

 

“Tony,” she urged, sitting up further.  

 

“You promised not to push me further than I wished to go,” he reminded her with a harsh look, pointedly keeping her gaze until her cheeks heated up.  She didn’t back down, though.  Wouldn’t.  

 

“Tell me where I can meet him, then.”  

 

“You do not wish to go there.”

 

“Oh, Mr. Stark.  I think I do.”  Her mouth watered with anticipation.  This was what she’d wanted, this was what she’d been hoping to learn.  It wasn’t so much the scandal that Tony was hinting at when he sighed and rubbed his temples gently, a sign he was less than comfortable with what they were discussing, but it was the mystery as Tony said.  She couldn’t help it, unable to refuse a puzzle.  

 

“Fine.  But at least bring James,” he said in all seriousness.  “Your reputation isn’t exactly spotless.  I can get away with it, but you don’t need any more scandal.”

 

As if she had ever cared.  She was about to tell him such when it hit her that he was looking out for her, and she blinked in muted surprise.  Oh.  Her hand shot out to take his once more, squeezed it.  

 

“I will.”

 

\--

 

After the gala things had been a bit of a blur, and if Loki was honest he didn’t think he’d worked so hard for something in quite awhile.  They’d been doing what they could to garner more clients.  Better ones, ones with far more interesting and varying appetites, ones who would pay through the nose to get what they wanted and to keep it secret.  Stark wasn’t the only one with unconventional desires, and while it had all been quite taxing to figure out just how to ensure one man could watch another getting off without the latter being any the wiser, or how to find girls who looked reasonably alike enough to consider them twins for a man and wife with very particular desires, it had whet his appetite to figure out all of their kinks and desires.  At least the work was fascinating.  

 

To top it all off, they’d continued working on remodeling the basement as a whole, decking the place in sumptuous colors, finally getting the stink of piss and come out of the flooring before redoing it in marble imported from some place in the far east.  Farther than he cared to think about, at least.  The women working there had grown still and silent as they’d watched the new floors being installed, eyes round as the coins their pockets were fast becoming stuffed with as Loki brought in more well off clients than they’d thought possible.  

 

“I have to say,” Pepper had murmured to him as she’d moved to stand beside him.  “I thought your head was up your arse before, talking about making this place better.  But you’ve really got a good idea of what you’re doing, don’t you?”

 

He’d grinned and assured her he did, thrilled beyond belief that his gamble had paid off so well so quickly.  What was more, as the client number grew Loki had to begin sending people away if they were not able to make the minimum payment required to even enter his establishment.  Word, it seemed, traveled quickly enough, and he considered asking some of the girls, Pepper maybe, to scout out talent so they could continue to add.  It couldn’t be too hard, he imagined.  

 

Stark came to visit just as they were opening up half a week after the gala at Loki’s request, and the god couldn’t have grinned any wider.  He’d pulled a few strings, called in a favor or two owed to him for keeping secrets, and, well, there was more than just Pepper waiting for the inventor in his usual room.  The man looked exhausted, deep bags under his eyes and an ever present yawn dancing on the tip of his tongue, but even that couldn’t stop him from pausing in the doorway and whistling as he looked around.  

 

“I like what you did with the place,” he said.  “All your talk wasn’t just hot air, turns out.”

 

“So it would seem,” Loki said, refusing to rise to tell Tony off further.  No one ever bloody well believed him.  “Come this way, Stark.  I’ve got a surprise for you, as promised.”

 

As if Tony needed any more reason to be on his guard.  He tensed as Loki led him through the winding halls, each branching out to different doors, moans filtering from behind them, some male, some female, all oblivious to whatever it was that went around them.  As they stopped just in front of one of the larger rooms that Loki usually let out for groups or, in this case, an important client, Loki’s hand squeezed Tony’s shoulder.  The man fought off of a shiver.  

 

“Now, of course, whatever happens beyond here is all your business and none of mine, but if you wish for this to become a recurring thing I need you to see me afterwards so we can make arrangements,” he said, smile plastered on his face.  Tony’s brown eyes searched his, narrowing slightly as though trying to read him.  

 

“What the hell are you on about?”  He demanded.  “A recurring what?”  

 

The door opened from inside, Steve Rogers, dressed to the nines in his best military get up, standing in front of them.  His eyes were blown wide already, lips swollen from kissing, and they twisted into a wide grin to see Tony standing in front of him.  

 

“Mr. Stark, good to see you,” he said.  “Didn’t think you’d show up.  Virginia said--.”

 

“Pepper!”  The voice came from within, and Loki could barely hide a grin.  

 

“Pepper,” Steve corrected himself.  “Said you’d be here but I wasn’t sure--.  Tony, what’s wrong?”

 

Beside Loki, Tony had started to shake, his fists clenching at his side before he rounded on Loki.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?  Where do you get off--you stupid, smug, son of a bitch.”  He pressed his hands to Loki’s shoulders and shoved him, hard enough to slam him up against the wall.  Steve swore, pulling Tony back as Loki stared incredulously at the pair of them.  “Something that I want again--what the fuck--who the fuck do you think you are?”  He spat, writhing in Steve’s grip as the soldier kept him still and Loki brushed himself off.  Composing himself, he arched an eyebrow at the infuriated man.  

 

“I’m simply giving you what you want.  Your captain has no problems with it.”  Loki said, the nickname coming out before he could stop himself, yet neither of them even noticed.  “So your anger is unwarranted.”

 

“Unwarranted?”  Tony roared.  

 

“Tony, don’t make a scene,” Steve said, his muscles tightening as he struggled to hold his friend.  Smaller though he might be, Tony packed a punch when he wanted to and when he threw his weight behind it.  Loki had been on the receiving end of them once before, in another life it felt like.  Now?  He wasn’t keen to repeat the process.  “Tony, hey, look at me.”  

 

The tone in the captain’s voice made Loki near shiver, too familiar and too close to feel comfortable.  He’d heard that voice, that certain ring to it, many a time, usually followed by his backside getting handed to him as the blond man barked orders for his Avengers to follow.  Once he was far enough away he supposed he’d reconsider what had happened and how interesting it was that many of their traits carried through, despite the change in century, in mannerisms, in everything, but then?  He just wanted to get away.  

 

The inventor, however, was struck dumb by the voice, going limp in Steve’s arms as the man stroked his brown hair gently.  “Loki . . . well, he told me that this was something you wanted.  You and I have been friends for a long time, and I think I, well, I think I want the same thing.  If you do.  If he’s off base then we’ll forget this ever happened.”  He turned the man around, staring at him.  “But I’m done lying about it.  Loki promised this would be the safest place to do something like this,” he swallowed thickly.  “But if you want me, then I want you, too.”  

 

Stark relaxed in Steve’s grasp, his lips parted to let a long gush of air escape his lungs. The man glanced curtly at Loki and then back to Rogers, who still stared at him, anticipating his answer with wide eyes. “I want you.” His words came in a low whisper, almost as though he was ashamed of speaking them in front of Loki, he probably was, which only made the god’s grin widen, stretching his lips until they felt like they would crack.

 

“Very well.” Loki clapped his hands together loudly. “The room is all yours.” He winked triumphantly and gestured towards the suite with a flourish of his hand. “Take as much time as you need. You’ve earned this, Stark.”

 

Tony gulped and nodded at Loki before the captain tugged lightly on his hand with gentle whispers in his ear to lure him into the room. The two of them disappeared behind the door and Loki listened to Pepper’s heels clacking on the hardwood floor, her and Steve’s persuasions as they lead Tony to the king sized bed he had installed for them. He would have laughed if they wouldn't have heard him, instead he stifled his amusement, saving it for when he returned to his office. Now he had the good captain under his thumb, he mused as he strolled back to the main foyer of the establishment, hands in his pockets and a mischievous smile on his lips. What would his military companions say if they knew? The threat of such a secret getting out would certainly be enough to manipulate Rogers, and Loki already knew he had Stark pinned down. This enhancement was fast becoming his best decision yet.

 

There was always the worry, though. With every new patron that entered his door, that promised to tell their friends of his establishment, worry blossomed in the back of his mind. Sooner or later Thor would hear the rumours of Loki Latherson, the purveyor of pleasures and secret desires, whispers in alleys of his enterprise, much more luxurious and high class than any other found in London. As much as Loki loved to ridicule Thor’s lack of intelligence, he knew the man would be able to put two and two together, after all, Loki wasn’t exactly the most common of names. It seemed that no matter where or when Loki would run to, the oaf always found a way to ruin everything, he just hoped he could get to Natasha before Thor did.

 

He stopped in the foyer to direct a lost looking customer to his room, though he usually avoided contact with the patrons unless they were important, often leaving the duty of welcoming them and directing them to the girls, but with such a busy day it seemed they were all occupied with their clients. Loki made a mental note to speak with Pepper once she was done with Stark -whenever that would be- to inquire after new girls.  As business grew they would need the more help.  Perhaps he even ought to bring a few more men into it, keep them tucked back away until required.  It would do well to have them for some of the more adventurous women, or men, that should come in, and though they had one to two depending on the night already, he felt they could prepare to expand.  These people repressed their desires so much that once they believed themselves in a sanctuary, a place without worry of being discovered, they all stampeded out at once, eager to be fulfilled and satiated.  He’d much rather be prepared than caught unawares.  

  
Of course, he didn’t always get what he wanted, and as he turned to hear his name being called he saw Natasha making her way towards him.  Alone.  His heart leapt into his throat, and any previous thoughts of what else had to be done disappeared.  Unprepared and caught unaware indeed.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait between chapters, but we're pretty sure the update is worth it ;] Thanks so much for reading and hope you enjoy!

“Natasha.”  He looked pleased to see her, disguising his surprise with ease though she’d still caught the flash in his eyes and the opening of his lips.  She liked having the advantage of a surprise over him, she realized, and smirked as she drew closer.  Her eyes took in the opulent extravagance around her, the well furnished room filled with couches and plump cushions, as though it was some sort of waiting room, and everything was decked in lavish colors that made her feel as if she’d stepped into the Taj Mahal, or one of the other estates of excess that she’d grown up hearing stories about.  It was breathtaking, she had to admit, though she kept her face as impassive as she could, bringing her lips to his cheek as way of greeting before pulling away and smiling.  

 

“What brings you here?”  He asked, shifting where he stood as though uncomfortable with her being there.  Impossible, though.  She’d read him far too well the other night to think that he didn’t want her there.  

 

“I had to see where you worked myself,” she said, dropping her hands to her front and folding them to keep from reaching out to touch everything else in the room.  It almost seemed too good to be true, though Loki hardly noticed, too keen to take in her impression, sharp gaze following her every move.  “Mr. Stark was kind enough to assist me in finding your place of employment.  I’ve never been here before.”

 

“No, I imagine a woman of moral standing such as yourself--.”

 

She did what she could to keep from snorting, though her smile grew wide with the secret.  If only he knew.  

 

“Would come to a place such as this.”

 

“Yet you work here,” she countered, her head tipping to the side and her expression keeping him distracted from coming up with a proper retort.  Tony had told her not to come alone, but she was thrilled not to have James with her.  This would have turned into some sort of competition between the both of them, and Natasha would have been left bored and without any sort of distraction.  

 

As it was Loki’s reactions were amusing in themselves, particularly the way he would flounder after her quick assertions, as though not anticipating her to be so keen on retorting.  He’d learn soon enough, she supposed.  She smoothed out the deep green fabric of her gown, easing the wrinkles out of the silk, before waving a hand to stop him from whatever his retort might’ve been.  She was certain she’d heard it a thousand or so times, and like most every other man she’d met he looked scandalized at being silenced.  “But I didn’t come all the way down here to trade words on the inequalities of our lovely England,” she said with a wry smile.  “Would you be so kind, good sir, as to show me around?”  

 

Loki stared at her for a moment before fully comprehending her meaning, and she smirked, watching his expression relax from his well hidden surprise. She’d seen it before in other men’s expressions, how easily she could steal the control of a situation, she took pride in it, she wasn’t about to roll over and let someone else take the lead. He pressed his lips tightly together, and she watched in amusement, it never got old, before an easy smile worked its way onto his lips.

 

“Of course, ma’am.” He grinned, a subtle, mocking tone on his words. His hand pressed against the small of her back, leading her from the foyer. Her eyes scanned the room before she was lead away from it, still trying to figure out what kind of establishment he ran.

 

Stark had spoken with such a grave tone about the place, as if she should fear what waited behind the door that Loki was fast approaching. There was little to discern from the entrance, it was luxurious, beautifully decorated with such grandeur, despite being situated in a less pleasant part of London than she was used to.  It was inviting, the rich scents of candles and incense, the oil painting that hung from the wall, intricately detailed and depicting scenes she recognised from mythology, not exactly cheap art.

 

There was a slight moment of hesitation on Loki’s part as he reached out to the handle of the door that she assumed to lead deeper into his establishment, and unveil the secrets about him that she so much wished to know. she noticed him glance at her from the corner of his eyes, lips pressed together tightly once more.

 

“Is there a problem?” She asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Whatever he was hiding, she knew she could handle it, but the thought did cross her mind that maybe leaving James behind wasn’t the best idea. Still, she knew he would only kick up a fuss, probably break down the door himself with his metal arm. The situation required delicacy, a more gentle approach in some manner. Loki paused and glanced down at her, his hand still placed lightly on the small of her back, a sensation she couldn’t easily forget about.

 

“How much did Stark tell you?” He asked, lips curled into a smirk.

 

“He was vague.” She replied, her brows forming a tight frown at his query. “Though by the way he was acting I did get the impression that this is some kind of hellhole.”

 

Loki chuckled to himself, lips pulling back in a grin. “Not quite.”

 

He outstretched his free arm drumming his fingers on the handle of the door as his gaze remained fixed on hers.  She waited with baited breath as his slender fingers wrapped around the ivory handle, turning it slowly, teasingly almost.

 

“Oh get on with it,” she teased, nudging him in a way that wasn’t necessarily socially acceptable but she wasn’t exactly in a place to worry about it.  Either way he laughed and pulled the door open.  The sounds, which had been cut off due to the thick wood of the door, suddenly flooded her ears and widening her eyes as she realized just what was hiding behind it, even before her sight could catch up.  Deep moans pulled from wide open mouths, gasped “Oh, oh yes” that would’ve made her blush had she been a proper lady.  But she wasn’t, had never been, and so she devoured the image of the tangled couple on the floor in front of her, the woman’s head thrown back, brown hair splayed across her pale back, in an, ecstasy Nat had found herself once or twice as her lover took her from behind.  His fingers were splayed over her hips as he groaned and grunted and slammed into her with such a force it was amazing they both didn’t come apart with every thrust.  The woman’s hands were dug into the plush carpet as though she’d take great handfuls of it off of the floor, and as Loki led Nat inside she caught the woman’s brown eyes peek open, the corner of her lips twitching upwards, before her moans intensified with a sharper thrust from the blond man behind her.  Natasha swallowed thickly, feeling a familiar coil of heat in her stomach and between her legs though it’d never come so quickly that it left her this dizzy and reliant on Loki to bring her over to the side of the room.  They took a seat side by side on a deep grey loveseat as the couple continued on, one of the man’s hands reaching forward to fondle the woman’s breasts, pinching the nipples in just a way that made Nat’s skin itch with desire.  

 

“Are you alright?”  Loki asked, voice silken in her ear, breath warm as he leaned in to whisper in her ear.  She tried not to shiver with pleasure.  

 

“Fine,” she said breathily, the word near drowned out by the other woman’s groaned and elongated “yeeeeeees” that made Nat squeeze her thighs together to try and find some semblance of pleasure.  The couple stopped only once to switch positions, the woman pulling away from the man with a slick noise that dried out Natasha’s mouth with want, and shifting to lay on her back, smiling up at the man with an indulgent smile.  He descended on her with a hot mouth, tongue and lips making her groan as he took one breast in his mouth at a time, his cock pressing into her without issue.  She bucked her hips up to take him in fully, latching her legs around his waist as her hands buried themselves in his hair, pulling until he growled like an animal atop her.  That was, perhaps, the only way to describe what they were doing, their carnal, almost pedestrian act enough to bring the heat to Nat’s cheeks as her breathing became labored.  

 

Whatever it was Loki found himself doing, well, she very much appreciated it.  The couple climaxed with a deep groan from the man and a shout of pleasure from the woman as he pulled himself out of her, come staining her stomach and his hand helping him ride out the rest of his orgasm.  The woman dipped her fingers in the thin, near opaque liquid and brought them to her lips without shame, sucking them clean, making a great show of wrapping her tongue around each digit.  He leaned over to kiss her, nip at her throat, and cleaned her up the rest of the way.

 

Loki nudged Natasha to tell her that it was time for them to leave, and she found her knees were weak and wobbling as he led her out, shutting the door firmly behind them.  Neither spoke as he led her towards what she could only assume was his office when they got there, an expensive table filled with paperwork in the near center, a pair of seats that he guided her towards before taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk.  

 

“So,” he started after waiting for her to make the first remark.  When she didn’t he twitched almost self consciously in his seat, fingers drumming an unsteady beat on the wood of the table.  “Are you alright with what I just showed you?”

 

Was she?  It certainly had set her imagination on fire, and she looked down at her hands as they twisted in her lap.  “Yes.  How did you--how did they come to do . . . that?”  She asked, struggling for the first time since she was a child with finding the proper words.  

 

“They call themselves exibitionists,” he said with the same sort of tone that she’d used, as though he was trying to downplay what they’d just witness.  “They get together to have sex in front of others, enjoying it when people watch.”  

 

“So you mean they don’t--.”

 

“I believe she is widowed and he betrothed to a woman half his age.  They do not use, or even know, the other’s real name.  They come to enjoy one another’s bodies, and leave without letting it affect them.”  Loki said, keeping his tone even as his eyes never left hers, gauging her reaction.  How the hell was she supposed to react to that?  

 

“And that’s what you have in all of your rooms?”  She asked, wondering how many other shows there were, her curiosity prickling her sense of propriety.  

 

“No.  The other rooms are rented out to others.  They come to me with their desires and I do what I can to fulfill them for a price.”  

 

“So when Mr. Stark comes--.”

 

“I am afraid I cannot divulge what it is he likes, Madam.”

 

“Natasha,” she insisted.  What was the point in hanging on propriety when they’d just witnessed such a delicious, vulgar act?  

 

“Natasha,” he acquiesced.  “It is all strictly, entirely confidential. I cannot divulge anyone’s desires, no matter whom is asking.”  

 

Well that seemed very pointed, and the realities of what he was saying made her head spin.  She could come here to have what she wanted and James would not be any the wiser.  Her heart pounded against her chest so painfully she thought she might be bruised.  Again, silence reigned between them as she struggled to find the words she wanted to say, wanted to ask.  

 

Loki’s lips curled as he leaned closer to her, his eyes alight and looking far more alive than she’d ever seen him.  “Tell me, Natasha.  What do you desire?”  

 

\--

 

He was lucky to have a pair of men available that he thought she might like, and once Natasha had offered him the promised price for renting a room and for the men’s time, he stood up with a flourish and led her back outside.  His own heart was pounding, his throat tight even as he walked with even steps towards one of the more intimate rooms, his favorite.  It hadn’t been used that night, Loki keeping it reserved for more important customers.  Stark had his own, and this?  Well, if Natasha enjoyed what happened it might become her own.  He hoped she did, hoped she came back.  It would be all the easier to keep tabs on her if she did, he told himself, pushing away whatever other thoughts that came with it.  As she waited in the deep navy room, the bronze sconces on the walls keeping the lighting dim, deepening the golds and sumptuous blues of the bedspread, he moved to bring the two free men in.  He’d give her her pick, whichever made her happiest.  He wanted her impressed, wanted her pleased.  

 

Wanted her for his own, but he kept those thoughts locked far, far away.

 

“Madam,” Loki said as soon as they’d entered again.  No true names were ever used in the company of the employees, save for people like Stark who couldn’t have been mistaken if they’d tried, and even the names of the two men he’d brought with him were false, protecting their identities as surely as he protected Natasha’s. They’d agreed to call her Madam or Mistress, rather than creating a false name for her to assume, and as Loki would be handling all of her dealings personally he found he didn’t much mind the idea of no one else knowing who she was.  In fact, he rather liked it a lot.  

 

“Nathaniel and Alexander will be yours for the evening if you wish it,” Loki said, smiling as both of the men preened before her attention, and Natasha’s pupils dilated ever-so slightly, taking in the lithe brown haired man and the more sculpted blond before her.  Running her tongue over her bottom lip slowly, she stepped forward, inspecting the two men as though a farmer looking for prized chattle.  Loki was pleased to see Nathaniel, the smaller of the pair, grow relaxed under her scrutiny, even if the front of his trousers had begun to tent with his arousal.  Natasha had noticed as well, running a hand down his exposed neck and using her nails on his back, applying just enough pressure to make him shiver and harden further.  

 

“I just want him,” she told Loki, smiling at the blond and patting him on the shoulder. “Perhaps another night.”  

 

Loki nodded as Alexander bowed his head and took that as his cue to leave.  There was a split second of hesitation as Loki watched Natasha take in the man in front of her with a keen look of interest, before she turned to see if Loki had anything else to say.  He hadn’t realized he’d been gawking.  

 

“I shall leave it at that, then.” Loki said stiffly, tearing his gaze away from the pair. “If you have any further requests, I’ll be in my office.”

 

He left them together in their room, his heart a heavy beat against his chest, and his skin burning. The arousal in Natasha’s eyes had done the trick, getting hot and bothered, and uncomfortable in his own clothing. To think, they were in the next room, Nathaniel, doing everything that Loki wanted to do with her, under her command. He rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, a heavy sigh leaving his lungs as he returned to the seat behind his desk. He sorted through some paperwork, albeit not exactly thoroughly, his mind wandering elsewhere, to the room next to his, to Natasha.

 

What would she be having Nathaniel do? How did she like to play it out? The paperwork was easily forgotten, as Loki found himself staring at his door, his gaze withdrawn as his mind worked in overdrive. Positions, moans, sensations, everything he wanted to know about her methods, all played out in his imagination, and he thanked the gods he was sitting behind a heavy wooden desk, lest a client waltz in and discover just how his own thoughts had affected him.

 

The image of her dilated pupils came to mind, her fingers tracing down Nathaniels chest, nails raking down his neck. How desperately he wanted that to be him, after all the effort he’d put into tracking her down, luring her into his life, now he was just going to let another man reap the benefits? Loki began to question why he’d offered her the men in the first place, why not just offer up himself?

 

He tried to shake these last thoughts away as a knock came on the door, attracting his attention as he tried to will his erection away.  Bloody hell.  “A moment,” he said, breathing deep and screwing his eyes up in concentration.  Breathe.  That’s all he had to do, and it would stop.  

 

He only allowed them entrance when he felt himself relaxing.  There, better.  Of course, Natasha opening the door only brought back the same thoughts he’d worked to push away.  He pulled it off as surprise, disguising his momentary pleasure that she and Nathaniel hadn’t done anything with his taken aback expression.  

 

“Madam.  That was rather quick--was he not to your liking?  I can call the other if you desire.”  He said, allowing himself to stand only when he knew it was alright.  

 

“No, everything is fine with Nathaniel,” she promised him, biting her bottom lip as though she was afraid of what she had to say next.  His interest piqued.  

 

“Then how can I help you?”  

 

“I, well, I understand that your business is reputable, and I commend you for the steps you have taken to ensure that those who visit are safe,” she said, rather diplomatically.  “However, I cannot help but feel a little . . . apprehensive.  About it all.  I was wondering, well, if you aren’t too busy.  It would alleviate my worries if you would come and sit in, as we did for the other couple.  If there are not other pressing matters, of course.”  

 

She had a tell, a certain way she blinked rapidly when she was telling a particularly bad lie, that lit his hope on fire.  He hid it as best he could, though a smile peeked through the facade.  “If it would make you feel more comfortable I would be more than happy to,” he assured her, playing it off as though she’d simply asked him for a glass of water or an extra pillow.  

 

He followed her through the corridors of his establishment, the moans of other clients sounding through the walls, though he paid them no attention, his gaze transfixed on the way Natasha walked in front of him. her hips swayed in a tantalizing motion, as though she knew exactly what she was doing to him, she knew what thoughts had flooded his imagination before her entrance into his office. He was almost certain that there was a smirk plastered on her lips, though he could not see, the passages too narrow for him to walk beside her. It didn’t matter too much, the view was fine from where he was.

 

Natasha paused outside the door to the room he had given her, her eyes finding his in the dim lit corridor, though he could see the way she bit her lip, almost anxiously.

 

“Everything alright?” He asked, thanking the deep moans from the couple in another room for taking any attention away from his rapidly beating heart.

 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” She replied, lips twitching and curling at the corners as her lashes began to flutter, letting him know how she lied. “It’s good to know I’m in safe company.”

 

Loki withheld a snort and feigned an understanding nod. Either she knew how he saw straight through her lies, playing this as some kind of game, or she really believed he was that inane. Of course, she didn’t know just how well he knew her, and he knew for certain that there was no way Natasha would ever need someone to standby in case things got too rough. Alternate universe or not, nothing could diminish the Black Widow’s strength.

 

She bit her lip again, this time allowing her teeth to rake over the plump, pink flesh in a slow, teasing manner. Her eyes watching him from beneath her lashes, tongue peeking out to sweep over her bottom lip. He leant closer, gods, he wanted to take her right then and there, but he paused, face close to hers, enough so that he could see the subtle hints of pleasure in her eyes, as though she knew what she was doing. His lips set into a firm line, and as if she could sense his irritation, she tilted her head to one side, curiously.

 

“I believe we have left Nathaniel waiting for too long.” He said firmly, pulling away from her, somewhat reluctantly. Damn her, the whole point of this whole thing was to outplay her, to get her under his thumb, not the other way around.

 

“Yes, I believe you are correct,” Natasha said, as though she’d just remembered herself and striding past the door without another word.  He had to pause for a moment to try and get himself back into the state of mind as before.  He needed to regain the upper hand, not let her control him and get the best of him.  Not like the last time.  With that humiliation in mind his jaw tensed and he followed her, closing the door with a heavy ‘thud’ behind them.  Nathaniel was already waiting on the bed, his hair tousled and lips swollen and wet, as though they’d been kissing furiously before and he’d not even moved since she’d left.  He was down to his undergarments, his cock tenting the fabric as Natasha stepped closer.  Loki took a seat to the side in an oversized armchair, not allowing himself to sit forward to stare intently at the pair of them as he’d liked to, but forcing himself to sit back instead, rest his head against the fabric and feign indifference.  She couldn’t know how much she’d gotten under his skin already.  

 

Nathaniel tried to sit up as Natasha got closer and she shook her head, pressing him back down with one hand to his chest.  “No.  You listen to me while you’re here, yes?”  

 

He nodded vigorously, eyes already gleaming with excitement.  “Yes Mistress.”  

 

Natasha visibly shivered with the title and Loki did not think about how she’d react if he called her that, looking up at her from such a vulnerable position.  No, dammit all.  He’d have her on her back so quickly it would knock her world out of orbit.  

 

Except.  Except command and control looked so good as Natasha began to undress herself, removing the silky fabric from around her piece by piece and setting it gently to the side before she moved to sprawl herself atop Nathaniel, the man having enjoyed the show very, very much.  As had Loki.  She moved her hair to one side to keep from getting between the pair of them as she kissed the man hard on the lips, sucking on his bottom lip and biting it hard enough to make him gasp and groan, his back arching and body going taut.  Loki inched closer, left hand clenched tight on the armrest of the chair, so tight it was a damn miracle it didn’t splinter.  Her hips covered those of the man beneath her, and she rocked them back and forth without fail, bringing soft groans from Nathaniel’s mouth as he tried to buck upwards into the movement.  In a moment she pulled away and pressed her hand to his chest again, eyes focused entirely on him.  

 

“I told you that I’m in control.  Do that again and I will punish you as I see fit.”  

 

How had she known he would like that so?  It had been one of the preferences that Loki had found most intriguing about the man when he’d taken him into his employment, certain that there would be at least someone who would enjoy that sort of play.  They couldn’t have had that much time to discuss it before she’d gone to get him, and besides she’d picked the man.  Loki shifted, rather uncomfortable with how astute her ability to read people still was.  Damn.  

 

Nathaniel was struggling not to grin as he nodded, assuring her that he understood, fisting his hands in the duvet of the bed to keep from reaching out to touch her as she began to finish undressing herself.  Loki’s mouth watered as her breasts came free from their tight confinements, her fingers nimble and so used to the movements that her undergarments were off in moments, thrown to the side in abandon before she slithered backwards to remove the rest of Nathaniel’s.  He was freed with a soft hiss of pleasure, cock standing proud as Nat took it in hand and ran her thumb over the tip with a familiarity Loki was sure wasn’t normal for a woman of the time.  Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors, or else some things were so deeply ingrained into who she was that there was no separating her from it.  A curious experiment he’d like to try.  Still, he couldn’t help but lean in further as he watched her turn her body to the side, giving him a clear view as she took the man’s cock in her mouth, fisting him in one hand as she swirled her tongue around the head.  Nathaniel’s cry of pleasure was choked, his knuckles white and muscles tense as he struggled not to thrust into her mouth, not to seek further pleasure and so was locked into his one position.  He cried out for her over and over again, telling her just how good it felt, and when her hand dropped to massage his balls, taking him entirely into her mouth, Loki realized he’d been palming his own cock at the sight, nearly as enthralled with what was happening as Nathaniel.  The man looked positively wrecked, his teeth shredding his bottom lip as he moaned and watched Natasha take him over and over, pulling over only to swirl her tongue over his length before taking him once more.  Loki hated her.  He hated that she knew what she was doing--that she’d done this to other men enough to know what she was doing, even in this era.  

 

Hated what she was doing to him--what she knew she was doing to _him_.  

 

A few more minutes of this torture passed before Natasha pulled herself up, licking her lips and shooting a grin both meant for Nathaniel and Loki, feral and blooming with lust as she moved to position herself.  From where he was seated, Loki got a perfect view of her backside, watching eagerly as she slid inch by inch atop the man beneath her, her head tipping back and her curls tumbling down her back as she groaned, low and throaty.  Her own hands caught her breasts and palmed them, and it was all Loki could do not to stand and move to get a better look, the angle blocking the image from him.   _Dammit_!  Again his body tensed as he watched her reposition her body so that she was resting on her haunches, then slowly, teasingly, raised herself up and entirely off the man’s cock.  Loki actually gasped when she slammed herself back down, grateful for the shout of Nathaniel’s that swallowed it whole.  

 

 _Fuck_.  She would be the death of him.  

 

He was too eager to watch her bounce herself up and down on Nathaniel’s cock.  With the man’s dark hair and screwed up eyes it was easy enough to pretend it was Loki there, relishing in Natasha’s attentions, writhing beneath her while trying to stay so perfectly still.  Giving up control for once--.  

 

He groaned as quietly as he could as her pace picked up, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure through the both of them, as Loki’s hand increased pressure on his own hard cock, his mouth going dry as he wished--thought--dammit he was too close to the situation.  

 

When Nat let out the most delicious of whimpers, though, Loki couldn’t help himself.  He choked on what felt like oxygen as she rocked her body forward and backwards, having trapped Nathaniel’s hands above his head a moment before, and he took a breast into his mouth as she whispered for him to come.  Loki wasn’t far behind, hardly registering that she’d made sure to speak loud enough that he, too, could hear, too blissed out by the pleasure that shot through him, soiling his (thankfully black) trousers as Nathaniel shouted and came apart beneath her, coaxing soft, breathy moans from the incredible woman atop him.  

 

He hadn’t done that since he was a fucking youth and he’d come across Amora bathing in the river, and whatever pleasure he’d felt seconds before dissolved into cold, disgusted realization.  He needed to take control of the situation, needed to regain his footing, and so as they laid, sweat-covered, tangled with one another, he excused himself to his office before Natasha could get a good look at what she’d done to him.  

  
Had he had eyes on the back of his head he might’ve caught the confused and hurt look in her eyes as she turned to watch him leave, though it quickly died out as she pulled herself back together.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So quick update in our minor hiatus--things are crazy on both ends over here, so updates are going to continue to be sparse, and for that we apologize. We haven't forgotten about the fic! Just . . . a little slow. Hope you enjoy this either way!

Natasha really shouldn’t have been surprised when she looked out the window of her coach to see James storming down the porch steps. The driver came to a halt just as he reached the bottom of the steps, his nostrils flared and his brow so furrowed she could hardly see his eyes from this distance. Quickly she adjusted her overcoat and brought her hair over her shoulders, hiding any potential marks from her days activities. She hadn’t had time to check.

 

With a hand from the driver she descended the coach steps with ease, feigning a look of innocence as she looked up at the angered man in front of her. He could see right through it, she knew that much. James’ glare was unwavering as he watched her approach him, had she been anyone else she would have found it unsettling.

 

“Thank you, Joseph.” She smiled over her shoulder at the driver, who tipped his cap and climbed back onto the coach. A number of servants waited at the top of the steps, as they usually did when she returned from an outing, this time however they each wore a stern expression, likely having picked up on James’ fury. Natasha steadied her breath and quickly tried to figure out a way to get James inside and in a private room before he exploded.  Not that she cared what her servants thought of her, but that she would like a few less judgemental eyes on her as she endeavoured to calm James down.

 

She’d gone over her excuses on her journey home, when she wasn’t too caught up on the memory of Loki’s curtness with her upon her departure, and offered him a smile when he moved to meet her out in the street.  

 

“Natasha--.”

 

“Don’t you dare make a scene, James,” she hissed, taking his hand, his real one, and applying enough pressure so he knew she wasn’t messing around.  She hated it when he lost his temper, no matter if she was the one who provoked it or not.  A downside of being free of the Red Room for them both, their emotions tended to get the better of them when they weren’t suspecting it, having to keep them all bubbled up inside while under Ivan’s thumb.  Now that they weren’t, well, they were excellent at keeping it covered up still but in the privacy of their home Nat didn’t blame him for wanting to express himself.  She would’ve just preferred it if it wasn’t in front of everyone else.  

 

Silently he followed her inside and she could hear the metal of his arm shifting slightly as he clenched and unclenched his hands.  She dismissed most of the servants for the night, assuring them with an easy smile that she’d have need of them in the morning, and as they dispersed she moved to step into her drawing room.  Her vodka was already laid out upon her arrival, and she was grateful for the bitter drink as she poured it from the decanter into a crystal glass she’d nicked from one of the parties last season, along with a good half of the man’s savings in bonds.  

 

Bastard had it coming for what he’d made her do before he could relax.  

 

“Are you going to tell me where you were or should I start guessing?”  James asked, voice calm and collected save the tremor just beneath the surface.  She’d worried him.  She supposed she deserved the guilt that washed over, but couldn’t be bothered with facing it right then.  

 

“Oh please, entertain me with your guesses.” she said with a smirk as she took her seat, still high on the power she’d had over the man she’d been with, fingers longing for his pale skin beneath her again.  Was that how Loki got all his business, was to make addicts out of his visitors so they couldn’t rest until they came again?  She believed it.  

 

She watched the faintest hint of disbelief pass his face, and again her guilt reared its ugly head in her chest.  Dammit.  

 

“What’s going on?” He asked, and she could hear the strain in his voice, the strength he was putting in to keeping as calm as he could. His fingers were curling into fists, ever so slightly, only making her feel worse. She’d left him in the dark all day, with no idea where she was, but she’d loved every moment of that freedom, all that power to do what she liked. It had felt like a breath of fresh air, despite having been practically underground, in a dimly lit brothel. “Why wont you tell me where you’ve been?”

 

“Because I shouldn’t have to.” Natasha muttered, having only wanted to say it in her head, but her mouth had moved too fast. Once again the guilt curled in her blood and James stepped back, brows furrowing as if he didn’t even know who he was talking to.

 

“Where have you been?” He asked her again, this time she could hear the frustration in his words.

 

“James.” Natasha set down her drink, her voice a warning for him to calm down.  “Who I visit, or where I go, is my private business, James.”

 

The laugh that spilled from his lips made her tense, and she watched him, her own brows furrowed as he stepped back again, pacing and shaking his head, seemingly unimpressed with her lack of answer to his questions. He knew she was right, though, Natasha could see that clearly in his eyes, glazed and avoiding contact with hers.

 

“I’m worried about you, Natasha.  Whether you’re with Loki or not I don’t trust him.  He hasn’t given me a reason to, and the way that Stark’s been talking about him--.”

 

“Stark’s a gossip as much as you are it seems,” Nat countered, her eyes following his movements, his nervous pacing.  It wasn’t often that she saw him like this, this broken down and nervous, but when it did it only ever set her on edge.  She stood up and moved towards him, reaching out a hand to stroke his upper arm.  He looked up at her, his blue eyes unfocused, much as they had been at the Red Room, much as they had been whenever Ivan had tried to split them up.  It’d never gone over well, and perhaps she shouldn’t have thought that this would’ve done the same.  Her fingers slipped over the lapel of his shirt, and she reached up to kiss him, standing on her tip toes.  He wrapped that arm around her waist, tugging her all the closer, crushing her front against him.  She couldn’t help but hope he didn’t smell the other man on her, it would only complicate things further and she didn’t like complicated.  Not one bit.  

 

“James.  Relax.”  She murmured against his lips, cupping the side of his face.  Her eyes didn’t leave hers, watched as they began to focus again, watched as he pulled himself back together piece by piece.  It was a slow, arduous process, but one they had been working on since disappearing out of Russia.  Inch by inch she watched as his body began to lose its tension, all the coiled energy that made his bones ache and his phantom limb sting, as she knew, rolled off of him in waves.  Reaching up with both of her hands she smoothed the shoulders of his jacket, smiling up at him as sweetly and honestly as she could manage without over doing it.  “You’re running yourself ragged worrying over me.  You need to calm down before you end up hurting yourself.  I mean it.”  

 

“How can I calm down when you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on?”  He asked, and as much as she hated to admit to it, he had a valid point.  

 

“I do tell you what’s going on most every other time.  But. . . well this time I want something for myself.”  There.  With the words out in the open, James’ brow furrowed tight as he worked to make sense of them, Natasha holding her ground as best she could.  “I don’t say this to hurt you James, that’s not what I want to do at all.  Now, I’m tired and I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.  I hope you’ll join me.”  She said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek before heading towards the bathroom.  Well that had gone better than she’d anticipated it would, if she had to be honest.  She called to one of the maids that had yet to leave to heat up water for her bath, and took a seat on the side of the room as she waited for the tub to be filled, her head filled with what she’d just done, and what had happened earlier that day.  Her blood still ran heated in her veins as she thought over just how easy it had been to have Nathaniel underneath her, aching and whining for her to take her pleasure, rather than to help him in the acquisition of his own.  It made her stomach churn at the thought, at the reminder that she could be more than just a passive participant when it came to sex.  She had more of a say in it than she was often given, and the concept was so liberating and incredible that she couldn’t believe she’d never thought to seek out such an avenue before.  How many years had she wasted without exploring that sort of freedom?  Not that she didn’t meet her own climax when she and James had sex, she admonished.  He was very good at pleasing her, and took pleasure in doing it what was more, but it was never quite what she needed, like an itch just out of her reach, that only got worse the longer it went unscratched.  

 

What Loki had provided . . . she wanted it all to herself as long as she could manage.  As soon as the water was near full enough to slosh over the rim of the tub Natasha dismissed her maid with a smile and a wave of thanks.  She could disrobe herself, and did so with shaking fingers.  Naked and alone she inspected her body, grinning to see that her skin was without blemish or bruise, Nathaniel having been too focused on restraining himself that he hadn’t marked her up the way the other men she’d coupled with had.  When she went to visit him again she’d have to reward him for that.  The thought of returning made her heart pound all the harder in her chest, and she gave a low groan as she stepped into the hot water, the contentment and pleasure of the idea fueling the heat that coiled just south of her naval.  With light fingers, she traced the planes of her lower body, closing her eyes and pretending that it was Nathaniel doing such things at her command.  It might’ve even worked, had her image of him not morphed into Loki as soon as she brought her finger to the bundle of nerves between her thighs, slickened with her arousal and the water that covered her.  

 

“Fuck,” she muttered, despite the bolt of pleasure that rocked her body forward, towards her skilled fingers, and she pulled them away.  She wished he hadn’t been such an ass to her as she’d left, hardly saying two words once she’d caught up with him in his office.  She didn’t understand why he’d been so cross with her.  She paid him for the services rendered, and tipped Nathaniel rather handsomely she thought, yet for as excellent a liar as Loki was not even he could hide the anger and resentment in his gaze as he stared at her.  Judgement from him was certainly the last thing she’d have expected, but fine.  When she returned she’d see to it that he didn’t watch her once more, her own little gambit falling back on her rather than playing out as she’d hoped it might.  

 

Truth be told it had felt better with him there, watching.  Perhaps that was an avenue she needed to pursue, the same way that the first couple she’d seen had.  She wouldn’t have to worry about Loki’s resentful stare, then.  Wouldn’t have to worry about any of it.  It wasn’t as though he had anything to be resentful about, anyway.  He could get off his bloody high horse; she was a paying customer, the same as any, and he ought to treat her that way.  

 

\--

 

Loki leaned back on his chair, sighing as he looked over the piles of paperwork covering his desk. His eyelids felt heavy, as though he was fighting to stay conscious, ridiculous as that was. He had hardly slept since he’d brought himself to this world, an effect of the magic used, he supposed, or maybe his mind was merely elsewhere, and he could think of a few places it could be wondering.

 

Natasha still held strong in his thoughts, despite his own internal battle to think of anything but the sway of her hips, how she commanded Nathaniel from atop him. No. No, he couldn’t think of that again, especially not when he was working, when just about any client could waltz in. Even if he was behind a desk, the flush in his cheeks would be enough. He balled his hands into fists, placing them both on his desk as he stared at a document in front of him, willing his mind to focus on that instead. The writing turned to blurrs, strange shapes and lines in no time, his eyes unfocused and bleary.

 

Of course, Stark could find no better time to make his arrival.  The door to Loki’s office swung open, jolting him from his sleep deprived trance to see a very satisfied Tony waltz in, sending Loki a look that almost seemed like one of respect. So, someone had changed their tune, no doubt at all that it had something to do with a certain Blonde he’d managed to find just for Stark.

 

“You.” Tony pointed a direct finger at Loki, the tiniest of smirks gracing his lips. “You have just earned my utmost respect.  Not that that’s saying all too much, considering I’m not exactly the most respectful person, but still.”

 

Loki’s smile was perhaps a little too thin.  Good to know that so much of the man he saw so much of himself in, who’d rubbed him the wrong way for it, wasn’t entirely just a product of the world he’d grown up in but was, in fact, ingrained into his very being.  

 

“Pleased to hear it.” Loki replied, sitting upright in his chair so to look a little bit more presentable. The hunched over the desk look wasn’t really the most professional way of sitting. “I take it you’re satisfied?”

 

Stark skillfully masked a slight blush, though of course Loki quickly noticed the red creep over his cheeks, with a short laugh as he walked to sit in the chair opposite.

 

“You really are one manipulative bastard.” His words were delivered with a grin, though there was a bite behind them, subtle as it was, Loki detected it with ease. Not that it was a surprise to him, he knew it would be difficult to gain the man’s trust, especially seeing as Loki would be using his secrets for his own benefits. Stark shrugged as he settled into his seat. “But I’ve got to hand it to you, you’re the best in the business.”

 

“Feel free to tell that to your friends.” Loki drawled, stifling a yawn.  That caught Stark’s attention, and the man tipped his head to the side slightly, as though sizing Loki up.  It put Loki back on edge, and his spine stiffened further to prevent himself from looking weak.  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Stark?”  

 

“No, no I’m good.  I’m already paid up?”

 

“Yes, we added it to your tab, unless you’d like to settle it now?”  

 

“Nah,” Tony shook his head.  “Next time.”  There was a brief lull, neither of them moving or looking away, yet neither of them supplied anything else to keep them locked there.  Loki cleared his throat, hoping it might startle Stark into action.  The man blinked once, twice, coming out of his daze with a start.  

 

“Oh.  Right.  Look, little word of advice?  Don’t burn the candle at both ends,” he said, the corner of his lips twisting upwards.  “Though I’m sure any of these ladies would willingly give you a tumble to help wear you out, if you’re finding you still have trouble sleeping I’d go visit Bruce Banner.  Can I?”  He motioned to Loki’s notebook and pen, which the black-haired man handed over without problem.  Stark scribbled something inside it, his attention so focused on what he was doing that he hadn’t noticed the way Loki’s face paled with the name.  

 

“He’s the best chemist in the area.  If anyone can help you fall asleep it’s gonna be him.”  Stark promised, handing the book over along with the pen once he’d finished, winking.  “He’s a good guy.  He’ll fix you up so long as you tell him that I sent you.”  

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I appreciate the referral,” Loki said with as polite a smile as he could manage.  There wasn’t much else for them to say, and so Stark turned to leave, allowing Loki to deflate after the door had closed.  

 

Visit Bruce Banner?  The man who turned into a beast when his blood boiled too hot?  The man who’d tossed Loki around as though he’d been nothing more than a rag doll, indenting his silhouette into Stark’s floor?

  
It wasn’t a half bad idea, truthfully, though it was a daunting one.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Finally here with an update--sorry it's been so long, but it's been a trying half of the year for both of us here. I can't make promises about when the next update will be, but hopefully there won't be as long of a wait this time around. Thanks so much for reading!

Loki navigated the steam powered trams relatively easily, though admittedly he did feel a sense of unease from being pressed so closely against the other passengers. He still kept the piece of paper, on which Stark had written Banner’s address, balled up in his fist tightly. Perhaps too tightly, he observed, though he didn’t want to admit he was nervous. How could he not be? He was on his way to meet the very man who had thrown him around like a ragdoll. Maybe not the very man. There was no knowing what the spell had done to Banner’s ghastly curse, and that, in itself, was almost more worrying.  What possibly could’ve happened to change that, and just how was the man so afflicted now, assuming that all other things were equal?

 

Those around him took no notice of his discomfort, their own attentions fixed on the movement of the tram, the gentle swaying motion as the steam billowed around the windows.  To Loki’s left, a child played with a bronze mechanical wind-up doll, not unlike the one that he had seen on display at Stark’s mansion, though significantly lower quality.  As the child turned and turned the lever he could see the legs moving, wading through air as though it hoped to walk on it, but only when the child set the toy on the ground did it take a few steps forward before tumbling down to the ground.  Loki thought he could relate, understanding the strange sense of being powerless and at the mercy of another’s hand, and then once he was finally given the ability to go on his own, he collapsed under the weight of it all, toppling to the side.  Useless.  

 

“Mama, it’s broken,” the child said, looking up at his mother with watering blue eyes.  

 

“You just aren’t using it properly.”  The woman promised, bending ever-so slightly towards her son and taking the toy, showing him how to balancing him on his wobbly legs.  It took a few cautious steps forward, more than before, before a nudge from the tram knocked it over.  

 

“We’ll try it at home, darling,” his mother cooed.  “This is no place for toys.”  

 

The look Loki saw the mother giving her child made is throat closed up, and he turned his eyes to the world outside instead, trying to focus on the bright flashes of color that popped on the walls outside, though he couldn’t quite make out the words.  For being so old and so behind in comparison to what he had seen of Midgard in the 2000s, this transportation machine was moving relatively quickly.  His fingers, which had wrapped around the handle that protruded on the side, tightened until his knuckles went white.  He could do this, couldn’t he?  It surely wouldn’t be so bad to meet up with the man, at least get to know the area that he was located in, even if he didn’t go to meet him.  It would provide to be advantageous, he could only imagine, in the long run if he could easily discover where the doctor’s newest hiding place was.  

 

Strengthened by his determination, the rest of the travel passed by quickly enough, the colors that Loki had noticed before denoting just where in the city he was located.  As he grew closer and closer to the less savory parts of London, the mother and her son having gotten off at a deep, royal blue stop, the colors on the walls grew more grimy, faded and chipped off in places as though they hadn’t been repainted in some time.  Perhaps it was fate that his stop was a deep, almost sick looking green,  The platform, itself, seemed to be crumbling even as he stepped down onto it, the last man on the tram looking at him and his fine clothes as though he was insane for stepping off where he was.  Perhaps he was right, though if Stark could maneuver his way around Loki didn’t see he wouldn’t be able to do the same.  

 

The instructions on the piece of paper were brief, and made no sense at first glance, Stark’s handwriting barely legible even when Loki squinted.  Pursing his lips, he muttered a spell on the page, smiling to himself as a small arrow lit up the left corner of the paper, directing him through the slums that Loki had done what he could to stay out of.  Curious that for being such a stressed out individual, Banner picked the worst of places to inhabit.  Still, he supposed, from what he remembered of Midgard before the man had a penchant for finding himself in places he ought not to be, though with a patron like Stark he couldn’t imagine the man was wanting for anything.  Then again, he didn’t know the area as he’d somewhat known Midgard.  

 

The house he came to was broken down, dilapidated with busted down walls and broken in windows, reeking of opium and piss, much like the den that Loki had made into his home.  With some effort the place might’ve been inhabitable, but as it was?  He was having serious doubts about going in, Stark’s advice or not.  Besides, how much could he trust Stark when he’d blackmailed him as it was?  His paranoia flared up as he stood feet from the doorway, clenching his jaw and unclenching it.  He was a damn god, he could do this.  Couldn’t he?  

 

“Either you’re out or you’re in,” a loud, crass voice came from the left of him, and had he been worse at keeping his composure he’d have jumped and swore.  As it was he simply did a double take, a man popping out of the bins and garbage just beside the doorway, teeth greened from decay and eyes watery and bloodshot.  “Which way is it?”  

 

“Pardon?” Loki asked, stepping away from the mess of a man, eyes taking in the shabby clothing that was coming apart at the seams, the red tipped nose that he kept rubbing, and the blackened tongue that flicked out from between his lips to dab at his crusted skin.  Disgusting.  

 

“You’re in or out.  Which is it?”  

 

“What is this place?”

 

The man’s lips pulled away into a sneer as he pulled himself out of the bins.  He stood hunched over, eyes searching Loki’s.  “You’re an odd fop.  Can’tcha smell it?”

 

“Smell what?”  He asked, playing dumb.  There was a great deal he could smell, just what the imbecile was referring to was far more important.  

 

The man laughed and reached out to pat him on the back.  “Just as I thought.  Go back to yer mum, go suckle at her teat a while longer--ey!”  His eyes widened as Loki pulled a knife out from his side, the blade pressed against the man’s ash colored skin.  His eyes widened, and again the blackened tongue slipped out to lick at the corners of his lips.  “Sorry I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

 

“You tell me who is inside this establishment.”

 

“C-can’t.  Code of conduct between gentlemen.”  

 

Gentlemen?  Loki sneered, and the other man let out a nervous laugh, though the sound was shaky at best.  “Does he call himself Bruce Banner?”  Loki asked, his eyes narrowing

 

“Aye.  He’s one of the men in here.”

 

“Lead me to him.”  

 

He did.  Once Loki placed his feet back onto the ground he beckoned for the other man to follow him, leading him past the broken down door and into a large room.  Once it might have been grand, Loki able to see hints of filligree and deep red fabric on the walls, but it had been torn to shreds as time had passed.  Men filled the room now, lying down, sitting, hunched over, taking up space as they puffed on pipes filled with a sticky black something.  Women dressed in thick, dark dresses walked slowly in between the aisles of men, placing more of whatever it was into the pipes or bowls once money was offered them.  They’d top it off with a peck to the man’s sallow cheek, or forehead, before stepping away to continue their work.  The reek of the room near made Loki’s throat close up, but he pressed on either way.  

 

Banner hardly looked any different than the first time that Loki had seen him.  Perhaps a little lighter, if anything, as though he’d not yet encountered the beast that had used Loki as a mop.  For that he was grateful, though he didn’t dare cross the man.  Not just yet.  

 

“Sir, this man asked for you.”  Loki’s escort said as soon as Bruce looked up from his vast desk, glasses perched at the end of his nose.  Bruce’s brown eyes met Loki’s and curiosity glinted from behind the glass of his spectacles.  Behind him stood an enormous cabinet, though the contents were closed away from Loki’s prying eyes.  Likely more of the drug, he thought.

 

“Right.  Thanks”  He flipped him a coin, which the man caught and with a grateful bob of the head he disappeared out the door, closing it behind him.  Bruce gestured for Loki to take a seat, an uneasy smile tipping his lips. and Loki accepted with a gracious smile.  

 

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir.  Who are you?”  Bruce asked, offering Loki a pipe.  He could see the same sticky black stuff that he’d spotted the other men using, and he passed.  

 

“My name is Loki, and your friend Tony Stark suggested I come here to visit you.  That you might be able to help me.”  

 

Bruce went stiff, though his eyes bred curiosity, and sat back on his desk.  The pipe he placed on the hardwood of his desk before balancing backwards onto his palms.  “Ah.  Well, Tony’s always been too kind.  What is it you’re looking for help with, Loki?”  

 

“I seem to be having issues falling asleep.  And staying that way.”  He said, not wanting to admit to his shortcomings but . . . really?  He needed help.  Tony had a point, that burning the candle at both ends would do nothing but put him worse off.  Besides, if he wanted to keep his magic as strong as he could in this bloody alternate universe, sleep was a necessity.  Fuck all, though, if he didn’t hate the smug expression that played on Bruce’s face as he realized that Loki’s problem was . . . well, hardly anything to get worked up about.  

 

“Not a problem, I’ve got just the thing.” He offered the god a half smile as he turned his back to open the cabinet doors.  How easy would it have been, Loki thought, to plunge a knife through his back.  To do away with one of the pesky Avengers, especially this one, who’d tormented his nightmares with his bestial scream and those petrifying green eyes.  No one would know that it was him, and he could take whatever it was he needed from Banner’s stores at his leisure.  Kill two birds, effectively, with one stone.  He had his hand poised over the dagger, but hesitated.  

 

No.  That would inevitably find its way back to him, this he knew.  Stark had led him here, and it wouldn’t do for Banner to be dead upon the same week of Loki learning about him.  The word would spread, leading Thor right to him.  And what would Natasha think, or do?  She and Stark were such good friends, and Loki wouldn’t put it past Tony that he would tell Natasha his suspicions.  The last thing he wanted was to lose her already. Not when he’d just gotten her.

 

His skin crawled with the idea that he was bending his own desires because of how it would affect her, but there wasn’t enough time for him to consider it as Bruce turned around with a small vial in his fingers, a clear liquid inside.  The cap was sealed with wax, and Bruce placed it on the desk between them.  “Belladonna. It’ll help with your sleeplessness, but only if you’re very careful.  Too much and it’ll kill you.  Two drops in your evening tea, only.” He warned, his eyes zeroing in on Loki, watching him carefully for a reaction.  Not that Loki gave him much of one, besides a nod of understanding.

 

“How much do I owe you?”

 

“Twenty.”

 

Loki hardly blanched. That was little to nothing, not when he was expecting it to be far more expensive.  He pulled the bills out and handed them over, accepting the small vial with a murmur of appreciation, though his attention was on the other vials that composed a backdrop just behind the doctor.  What did each other potion do, he wondered?  And why did he set up shop as an alchemist of sorts so far underground?  

 

“What is it that you have each other man here hooked up to?”  He asked, curiosity having gnawed like a rabid dog at his conscious until the words had come out. He wished they hadn’t, not wanting to spend more time there than strictly necessary, yet at the same time curious.  He hadn’t seen anything like this in this era, and wondered whether or not Bruce was the only one who did it.  

 

“Opium.” Bruce said simply, and Loki’s face contorted in confusion.  He’d never heard of it before.  Bruce laughed and shook his head, running a hand lazily through his curls as he pulled his own pipe out and emptied the contents into his hand.  What he’d thought was just a sticky black mass was an amalgamation of seeds, stuck together and burnt from use.  They smelled sweet on their own, Loki noticed, and he frowned to watch Bruce place it back into his pipe and light it. “You’ve never tried it before?”

 

“I generally turn to wine when I look to addle my mind.”

 

“This is far stronger.  Perhaps you’ll come back, if the belladonna doesn’t work.”  Bruce put the pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply.  Again, the same horrid stench that had invaded Loki’s nostrils upon entering filled the room.  “I’ve not found anything so good at calming the nerves and the conscious as this.”  

 

At that Loki left him, keeping his thoughts firmly tucked between his teeth as he wormed his way out of the building and into the fresher air of the outdoors.  He’d have to have one of the girls wash the stench of the place from his clothing, shuddering as he recalled just how easily it had invaded every pore of his body.  

 

‘If the Thames wasn’t so damn dirty I’d throw myself into it and be done.’

  
Though it was a surprise just how far the doctor had fallen, now out of his familiar time, it at least left Loki in good spirits to know that he wouldn’t be a threat.  Belladonna tight in hand, he strode away to catch the tram again and to hopefully manage a decent night’s sleep. 


End file.
